presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •   SAN  DIEGO 


FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIHRARY 


MR.   JOHN  C.   ROSE, 

donor 


V  v 


THE  UTTERMOST  FARTHING 


BY  MRS.  BELLOC  LOWNDES 
THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 
THE  PULSE  OF  LIFE 
BARBARA  REBELL 
THE  HEART  OF  PENELOPE 


J 


The  Uttermost 
Farthing 

i 

MRS.  BELLOC    LOWNDES 


"Thou  shalt  by  no  means  come  out  thence 
till  thou  hast  paid  the  uttermost  farthing." 


NEW  YORK 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 
2  East  2qth  Street 


Copyright,  1908,  by  Paul  R.  Reynolds 
Copyright,  IQOQ,  by  Mitchell  Kennerley 


* 


The   Uttermost   Farthing 


LAURENCE  VANDERLYN,  unpaid  attache  at 
the  American  Embassy  in  Paris,  strode  down 
the  long  grey  platform  marked  No.  5,  of  the 
Gare  de  Lyon.  It  was  seven  o'clock,  the  hour 
at  which  Paris  is  dining  or  is  about  to  dine, 
and  the  huge  station  was  almost  deserted. 

The  train  de  luxe  had  gone  more  than  an 
hour  ago,  the  Riviera  rapide  would  not  start 
till  ten,  but  one  of  those  trains  bound  for  the 
South,  curiously  named  demi-rapides,  was 
timed  to  leave  in  twenty  minutes. 

Foreigners,  especially  Englishmen  and 
Americans,  avoid  these  trains,  and  this  was 
why  Laurence  Vanderlyn  had  chosen  it  as  the 

starting  point  of  what  was  to  be  a  great  adven- 

1 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

ture,  an  adventure  which  must  for  ever  be  con- 
cealed, obliterated  as  much  as  may  be  from 
his  own  memory — do  not  men  babble  in  de- 
lirium?— once  life  had  again  become  the  rather 
grey  thing  he  had  found  it  to  be. 

In  the  domain  of  the  emotions  it  is  the  unex- 
pected which  generally  happens,  and  now  it 
was  not  only  the  unexpected  but  the  incredible 
which  had  happened  to  this  American  diplo- 
matist. He  and  Margaret  Pargeter,  the  Eng- 
lishwoman whom  he  had  loved  with  an  absorb- 
ing, unsatisfied  passion,  and  an  ever-increasing 
concentration  and  selfless  devotion,  for  seven 
years,  were  about  to  do  that  which  each  had 
sworn,  together  and  separately,  should  never 
come  to  pass, — that  is,  they  were  about  to 
snatch  from  Fate  a  few  days  of  such  free 
happiness  and  communion  as  during  their  long 
years  of  intimacy  they  had  never  enjoyed. 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

In  order  to  secure  these  fleeting  moments 
of  joy,  she,  the  woman  in  the  case,  was  about 
to  run  the  greatest  risk  which  can  in  these 
days  be  incurred  by  civilised  woman. 

Margaret  Pargeter  was  not  free  as  Van- 
derlyn  was  free ;  she  was  a  wife, — not  a  happy 
wife,  but  one  on  whose  reputation  no  shadow 
had  ever  rested, — and  further,  she  was  the 
mother  of  a  child,  a  son,  whom  she  loved  with 
an  anxious  tenderness.  ...  It  was  these  two 
facts  which  made  what  she  was  going  to  do 
a  matter  of  such  moment  not  only  to  herself, 
but  to  the  man  to  whom  she  was  now  about  to 
commit  her  honour. 

Striding  up  and  down  the  platform  to  which 
he  had  bought  early  access  by  one  of  those 
large  fees  for  which  the  travelling  American 
of  a  certain  type  is  famed,  Vanderlyn,  with  his 
long  lean  figure,  and  stern  pre-occupied  face, 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

did  not  suggest,  to  the  French  eyes  idly  watch- 
ing him,  a  lover, — still  less  the  happy  third  in 
one  of  those  conjugal  comedies  which  play  so 
much  greater  a  part  in  French  literature  and  in 
French  drama  than  they  do  in  French  life. 
He  had  thrust  far  back  into  his  heart  the  leap- 
ing knowledge  of  what  was  about  to  befall 
him,  and  he  was  bending  the  whole  strength 
of  his  mind  to  avert  any  possible  danger  of 
ignoble  catastrophe  to  the  woman  whom  he 
was  awaiting,  and  whose  sudden  surrender 
was  becoming  more,  instead  of  less,  amazing 
as  the  long  minutes  dragged  by. 

Vanderlyn's  mind  went  back  to  the  moment, 
four  short  days  ago,  when  this  journey  had 
been  suddenly  arranged.  Mrs.  Pargeter  had 
just  come  back  from  England,  where  she  had 
gone  to  pay  some  family  visits  and  to  see  her 

little  son,  who  was  at  a  preparatory  school; 

4 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

and  the  American  diplomatist,  as  was  so  often 
his  wont,  had  come  to  escort  her  to  one  of  those 
picture  club  shows  in  which  Parisian  society 
delights. 

Then,  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour  spent  by 
them  at  the  exhibition,  the  two  friends  had 
slipped  away,  and  had  done  a  thing  which  was 
perhaps  imprudent.  But  each  longed,  with  an 
unspoken  eager  craving,  to  be  alone  with  the 
other;  the  beauty  of  Paris  in  spring-time 
tempted  them,  and  it  was  the  woman  who  had 
proposed  to  the  man  that  they  should  spend  a 
quiet  hour  walking  through  one  of  those  quar- 
ters of  old  Paris  unknown  to  the  travelling 
foreigner. 

Eagerly  Vaiaderlyn  had  assented,  and  so 
they  had  driven  quickly  down  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli,  right  into  the  heart  of  that  commercial 
quarter  which  was  the  Paris  of  Madame  de 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Sevigne,  of  the  bitter  witty  dwarf,  Scarron, 
of  Ninon  de  1'Enclos,  and,  more  lately,  of 
Victor  Hugo.  There,  dismissing  their  cab, 
they  had  turned  into  that  still,  stately  square, 
once  the  old  Place  Royale,  now  the  Place  des 
Vosges,  of  which  each  arcaded  house  garners 
memories  of  passionate  romance. 

Walking  slowly  up  and  down  the  solitary 
garden  there,  the  two  had  discussed  the  com- 
ing August,  and  Margaret  Pargeter  had  ad- 
mitted, with  a  rather  weary  sigh,  that  she  was 
as  yet  quite  ignorant  whether  her  husband  in- 
tended to  yacht,  to  shoot,  or  to  travel, — whether 
he  meant  to  take  her  with  him,  or  to  leave  her 
at  some  seaside  place  with  the  boy. 

As  she  spoke,  in  the  low  melodious  voice 
which  still  had  the  power  to  thrill  the  man  by 
her  side  as  it  had  had  in  the  earlier  days  of 

their  acquaintance,  Mrs.  Pargeter  said  no  word 

6 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

that  all  the  world  might  not  have  heard,  yet, 
underlying  all  she  said,  his  questions  and  her 
answers,  was  the  mute  interrogation — which  of 
the  alternatives  discussed  held  out  the  best 
chance,  to  Vanderlyn  and  herself,  of  being  to- 
gether? 

At  last,  quite  suddenly,  Mrs.  Pargeter, 
turning  and  looking  up  into  her  companion's 
face,  had  said  something  which  Laurence  Van- 
derlyn had  felt  to  be  strangely  disconcerting; 
for  a  brief  moment  she  lifted  the  veil  which 
she  had  herself  so  deliberately  and  for  so  long 
thrown  over  their  ambiguous  relation — "Ah! 
Laurence,"  she  exclaimed  with  a  sigh,  "the 
way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard!  " 

Then,  speaking  so  quietly  that  for  a  mo- 
ment he  did  not  fully  understand  the  amazing 
nature  of  the  proposal  she  was  making  to  him, 

she  had  deliberately  offered  to  go  away  with 

7 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

him — for  a  week.  The  way  in  which  this  had 
come  about  had  been  strangely  simple ;  looking 
back,  Vanderlyn  could  scarcely  believe  that  his 
memory  was  playing  him  true.  .  .  . 

From  the  uncertain  future  they  had  come 
back  to  the  immediate  present,  and  Mrs.  Par- 
geter  said  something  of  having  promised  her 
only  intimate  friend,  a  Frenchwoman  much 
older  than  herself,  a  certain  Madame  de  Lera, 
to  go  and  spend  a  few  days  in  a  villa  near 
Paris — "  If  you  do  that,"  he  said,  "  then  I 
think  I  may  as  well  go  down  to  Orange  and 
see  the  house  I've  just  bought  there." 

She  had  turned  on  him  with  a  certain  ex- 
citement in  her  manner.  "You've  bought  it? 
That  strange,  beautiful  place  near  Orange 
where  you  used  to  stay  when  you  were  study- 
ing in  Paris?  Oh,  Laurence,  I'd  no  idea  that 
you  really  meant  to  buy  it !  " 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

A  little  surprised  at  the  keenness  of  her  in- 
terest, he  had  answered  quietly,  "  Yes,  when 
the  owner  was  going  through  Paris  last  week, 
I  found  he  wanted  the  money,  so — so  the 
house  is  mine,  though  none  of  the  legal  formal- 
ities have  yet  been  complied  with.  I'm  told 
that  the  old  woman  who  was  caretaker  there 
can  make  me  comfortable  enough  for  the  few 
days  I  can  be  away."  He  added  in  a  different, 
a  lower  tone,  "  Ah !  Peggy,  if  only  it  were 
possible  for  us  to  go  there  together — how  you 
would  delight  in  the  place  1 " 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  come  with  you?  I 
will  if  you  like,  Laurence."  She  had  asked  the 
question  very  simply — but  Vanderlyn,  look- 
ing at  her  quickly,  had  seen  that  her  hand  was 
trembling,  her  eyes  brimming  with  tears.  Then 
she  had  spoken  gently,  deliberately — seeming 

to  plead  with  herself,  rather  than  with  him, 

9 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

for  a  few  days  of  such  dual  loneliness  for 
which  all  lovers  long  and  which  during  their 
long  years  of  intimacy  they  had  never  once, 
even  innocently,  enjoyed.  And  he  had  grasped 
with  exultant  gratitude — what  man  would 
have  done  otherwise? — at  what  she  herself 
came  and  offered  him. 

Walking  up  and  down  the  solitary  plat- 
form, Vanderlyn  lived  over  again  each  instant 
of  that  strange  momentous  conversation  ut- 
tered four  days  ago  in  the  stately  sunlit 
square  which  forms  the  heart  of  old  Paris. 
How  the  merry  ghost  of  Marion  Delorme, 
peeping  out  of  one  of  the  long  narrow  case- 
ments of  the  corner  house  which  was  once 
hers,  must  have  smiled  to  hear  this  virtuous 
Englishwoman  cast  virtue  to  the  light  Parisian 
winds! 

Vanderlyn  also  recalled,  with  almost  the 
10 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

same  surprise  and  discomfort  as  he  had  ex- 
perienced at  the  time  itself,  the  way  in  which 
Margaret  Pargeter,  so  refined  and  so  deli- 
cately bred,  had  discussed  all  the  material  de- 
tails connected  with  their  coming  adventure — 
details  from  which  the  American  diplomatist 
himself  had  shrunk,  and  which  he  would  have 
done  almost  anything  to  spare  her. 

"  There  is  one  person,  and  one  alone,"  she 
had  said  with  some  decision,  "  who  must  know. 
I  must  tell  Adele  de  Lera — she  must  have  my 
address,  for  I  cannot  remain  without  news  of 
my  boy  a  whole  week.  As  for  Tom  " — she 
had  flushed,  and  then  gone  on  steadily — "  Tom 
will  believe  that  I  am  going  to  stay  with  Adele 
at  Marly-le-Roi,  and  my  letters  will  be  sent  to 
her  house.  Besides,"  she  had  added,  "Tom 
himself  is  going  away,  to  England,  for  a  fort- 
night." 

II 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

To  the  man  then  walking  by  her  side,  and 
even  now,  as  he  was  remembering  it  all,  the  dis- 
cussion was  inexpressibly  odious.  "But  do 
you  think,"  he  had  ventured  to  ask,  "  that 
Madame  de  Lera  will  consent?  Remember, 
Peggy,  she  is  Catholic,  and  what  is  more,  a 
pious  Catholic." 

"Of  course  she  won't  like  it — of  course  she 
won't  approve!  But  I'm  sure — in  fact,  Lau- 
rence, I  know — that  she  will  consent  to  for- 
ward my  letters.  She  understands  that  it 
would  make  no  difference — that  I  should 
think  of  some  other  plan  for  getting  them. 
Should  she  refuse  at  the  last  moment — but — 
but  she  will  not  refuse — "  and  her  face — the 
fair,  delicately-moulded  little  face  Vanderlyn 
loved — had  become  flooded  with  colour. 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  known  her, 
he  had  realised  that  there  was  a  side  to  her 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

character  of  which  he  was  ignorant,  and  yet? 
— and  yet  Laurence  Vanderlyn  knew  Mar- 
garet Pargeter  too  well,  his  love  of  her  implied 
too  intimate  a  knowledge,  for  him  not  to  per- 
ceive that  something  lay  behind  her  secession 
from  an  ideal  of  conduct  to  which  she  had 
clung  so  unswervingly  and  for  such  long 
years. 

During  the  four  days  which  had  elapsed 
between  then  and  now, — days  of  agitation,  of 
excitement,  and  of  suspense, — he  had  more 
than  once  asked  himself  whether  it  were  pos- 
sible that  certain  things  which  all  the  world 
had  long  known  concerning  Tom  Pargeter 
had  only  just  become  revealed  to  Tom  Par- 
geter's  wife.  He  hoped,  he  trusted,  this  was 
not  so;  he  had  no  desire  to  owe  her  surrender 
to  any  ignoble  longing  for  reprisal. 

The  world,  especially  that  corner  of  Vanity 

15 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Fair  which  takes  a  frankly  materialistic  view 
of  life  and  of  life's  responsibilities,  is 
shrewder  than  we  generally  credit,  and  the 
diplomatist's  intimacy  with  the  Pargeter  house- 
hold had  aroused  but  small  comment  in  the 
strange  polyglot  society  in  which  lived,  by 
choice,  Tom  Pargeter,  the  cosmopolitan  mil- 
lionaire who  was  far  more  of  a  personage  in 
Paris  and  in  the  French  sporting  world  than 
he  could  ever  have  hoped  to  be  in  England. 

To  all  appearance  Laurence  Vanderlyn  was 
as  intimate  with  the  husband  as  with  the  wife, 
for  he  had  tastes  in  common  with  them  both, 
his  interest  in  sport  and  in  horseflesh  being  a 
strong  link  with  Tom  Pargeter,  while  his  love 
of  art,  and  his  dilettante  literary  tastes,  bound 
him  to  Peggy.  Also,  and  perhaps  above  all, 
he  was  an  American — and  Europeans  cherish 
strange  and  sometimes  fond  illusions  as  to 

14 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

your  American's  lack  of  capacity  for  ordinary 
human  emotion. 

He  alone  knew  that  his  tie  with  Mrs.  Par- 
geter  grew,  if  not  more  passionate,  then  more 
absorbing  and  intimate  as  time  went  on,  and 
he  was  sometimes,  even  now,  at  considerable 
pains  to  put  the  busybodies  of  their  circle  off 
the  scent. 

But  indeed  it  would  have  required  a  very 
sharp,  a  very  keen,  human  hound  to  find  the 
scent  of  what  had  been  so  singular  and  so  in- 
nocent a  tie.  Each  had  schooled  the  other  to 
accept  all  that  she  would  admit  was  possible. 
True,  Vanderlyn  saw  Margaret  Pargeter  al- 
most every  day,  but  more  often  than  not 
in  the  presence  of  acquaintances.  She  never 
came  to  his  rooms,  and  she  had  never  seemed 
tempted  to  do  any  of  the  imprudent  things 
which  many  a  woman,  secure  of  her  own  vir- 

15 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

tue,  will  sometimes  do  as  if  to  prove  the  tem- 
per of  her  honour's  blade. 

So  it  was  that  Mrs.  Pargeter  had  never 
fallen  into  the  ranks  of  those  women  who  be- 
come the  occasion  for  even  good-natured  gos- 
sip. The  very  way  in  which  they  had,  till  to- 
night, conducted  what  she,  the  woman,  was 
pleased  to  call  their  friendship,  made  this 
which  was  now  happening  seem,  even  now,  to 
the  man  who  was  actually  waiting  for  her  to 
join  him,  as  unsubstantial,  as  likely  to  vanish, 
mirage-wise,  as  a  dream. 

And  yet  Vanderlyn  passionately  loved  this 
woman  whom  most  men  would  have  thought 
too  cold  to  love,  and  who  had  known  how  to 
repress  and  tutor,  not  only  her  own,  but  also 
his  emotions.  He  loved  her,  too,  so  foolishly 
and  fondly  that  he  had  fashioned  the  whole 

of  his  life  so  that  it  should  be  in  harmony 

16 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

with  hers,  making  sacrifices  of  which  he  had 
told  her  nothing  in  order  that  he  might  sur- 
round her — an  ill-mated,  neglected  wife — 
with  a  wordless  atmosphere  of  devotion  which 
had  become  to  her  as  vital,  as  necessary, 
as  is  that  of  domestic  peace  and  happiness  to 
the  average  woman.  But  for  Laurence  Van- 
derlyn  and  his  "  friendship,"  Mrs.  Parge- 
ter's  existence  would  have  been  lacking  in  all 
human  savour,  and  that  from  ironic  circum- 
stance rather  than  from  any  fault  of  her  own. 

Vanderlyn  had  spent  the  day  in  a  fever  of 
emotion  and  suspense,  and  he  had  arrived  at 
the  Gare  de  Lyon  a  good  hour  before  the  time 
the  train  for  Orange  was  due  to  leave. 

At  first  he  had  wandered  about  the  great 
railway  station  aimlessly,  avoiding  the  plat- 
form whence  he  knew  he  and  his  companion 

17 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

were  to  start.  Then,  with  relief,  he  had  hailed 
the  moment  for  securing  coming  privacy  in 
the  unreserved  railway  carriage;  this  had  not 
been  quite  an  easy  matter  to  compass,  for  he 
desired  to  avoid  above  all  any  appearance  of 
secrecy. 

But  he  need  not  have  felt  any  anxiety, 
for  whereas  in  an  English  railway  station 
his  large  "  tip  "  to  the  guard,  carrying  with  it 
significant  promise  of  final  largesse,  would 
have  spelt  but  one  thing,  and  that  thing  love, 
the  French  railway  employe  accepted  without 
question  the  information  that  the  lady  the 
foreign  gentleman  was  expecting  was  his  sis- 
ter. Such  a  statement  to  the  English  mind 
would  have  suggested  the  hero  of  an  innocent 
elopement,  but  as  regards  family  relations  the 
French  are  curiously  Eastern,  and  then  it 
may  be  said  again  that  the  American's  stern, 

18 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

pre-occupied  face  and  cold  manner  were  not 
those  which  to  a  Parisian  could  suggest  a 
happy  lover. 

As  he  walked  up  and  down  with  long,  even 
strides,  his  arms  laden  with  papers  and  novels, 
it  would  have  been  difficult  for  anyone  seeing 
him  there  to  suppose  that  Vanderlyn  was 
starting  on  anything  but  a  solitary  journey. 
Indeed,  for  the  moment  he  felt  horribly  alone. 
He  began  to  experience  the  need  of  human 
companionship.  She  had  said  she  would  be 
there  at  seven;  it  was  now  a  quarter-past  the 
hour.  In  ten  minutes  the  train  would  be 
gone 

Then  came  to  him  a  thought  which  made 
him  unconsciously  clench  his  hands.  Was  it 
not  possible,  nay,  even  likely,  that  Margaret 
Pargeter,  like  many  another  woman  before 

her,  had  found  her  courage  fail  her  at  the  last 

19 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

moment — that  Heaven,  stooping  to  her  feeble 
virtue,  had  come  to  save  her  in  spite  of  her- 
self? 

Vanderlyn's  steps  unconsciously  quickened. 
They  bore  him  on  and  on,  to  the  extreme  end 
of  the  platform.  He  stood  there  a  moment 
staring  out  into  the  red-starred  darkness: 
how  could  he  have  ever  thought  that  Margaret 
Pargeter — his  timid,  scrupulous  little  Peggy 
— would  embark  on  so  high  and  dangerous  an 
adventure? 

There  had  been  a  moment,  during  that 
springtime  of  passion  which  returns  no  more, 
when  Vanderlyn  had  for  a  wild  instant  hoped 
that  he  would  be  able  to  take  her  away  from 
the  life  in  which  he  had  felt  her  to  be  playing 
the  terrible  role  of  an  innocent  and  yet  de- 
graded victim. 

Even  to  an  old-fashioned  American  the  word 

20 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

divorce  does  not  carry  with  it  the  odious  sig- 
nificance it  bears  to  the  most  careless  Eng- 
lishwoman. He  had  envisaged  a  short  scan- 
dal, and  then  his  and  Peggy's  marriage.  But 
he  had  been  compelled,  almost  at  once,  to  rec- 
ognise that  with  her  any  such  solution  was  im- 
possible. 

As  to  another  alternative?  True,  there  are 
women — he  and  Margaret  Pargeter  had 
know  many  such — who  regard  what  they  call 
love  as  a  legitimate  distraction;  to  them  the 
ignoble,  often  sordid,  shifts  involved  in  the 
pursuit  of  a  secret  intrigue  are  as  the  salt  of 
life;  but  this  solution  of  their  tragic  problem 
would  have  been — or  so  Vanderlyn  would  have 
sworn  till  four  days  ago — impossible  to  the 
woman  he  loved,  and  this  had  added  one  more 
stone  to  the  pedestal  on  which  she  had  been 

placed  by  him  from  the  day  they  had  first  met. 

81 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

And  yet?  Yet  so  inconsequent  and  so  il- 
logical is  our  poor  human  nature,  that  she, 
the  virtuous  woman,  had  completely  lacked  the 
courage  to  break  with  the  man  who  loved  her, 
even  in  those,  the  early  friable  days  of  their 
passion.  Nay  more,  whatever  Peggy  might 
believe,  Vanderlyn  was  well  aware  that  the 
good,  knowing  all,  would  have  called  them 
wicked,  even  if  the  wicked,  equally  well-in- 
formed, would  have  sneered  at  them  as  ab- 
surdly good. 

Vanderlyn  wheeled  abruptly  round.  He 
looked  at  the  huge  station  clock,  and  began 
walking  quickly  back,  down  the  now  peopled 
platform  to  the  ticket  barrier.  As  he  did  so 
his  eyes  and  mind,  trained  to  note  all  that  was 
happening  round  him,  together  with  an  uncon- 
scious longing  to  escape  from  the  one  absorb- 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

ing  thought,  made  him  focus  those  of  his  fel- 
low-travellers who  stood  about  him.  They  con- 
sisted for  the  most  part  of  provincial  men  of 
business,  and  of  young  officers  in  uniform, 
each  and  all  eager  to  prolong  to  the  uttermost 
their  golden  moments  in  Paris;  more  than 
one  was  engaged  in  taking  an  affectionate, 
deeply  sentimental  farewell  from  a  feminine 
companion  who  bore  about  her  those  signifi- 
cant signs — the  terribly  pathetic,  battered  air 
of  wear  and  tear — which  set  apart,  in  our  sane 
workaday  world,  the  human  plaything. 

The  sight  of  these  leave-takings  made  the 
American's  face  flush  darkly;  it  was  hateful 
to  him  to  think  that  Mrs.  Pargeter  must 
suffer,  even  for  a  few  moments,  the  proximity 
of  such  women — of  such  men.  He  felt  a  vio- 
lent shrinking  from  the  thought  that  any  one 
of  these  gay,  careless  young  Frenchmen 

23 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

might  conceivably  know  Peggy — if  only  by 
sight — as  the  charming,  "  elegant "  wife  of 
Tom  Pargeter,  the  well-known  sportsman 
who  had  done  France  the  signal  honour  of 
establishing  his  racing  stable  at  Chantilly  in- 
stead of  at  Newmarket!  The  thought  that 
such  an  encounter  was  within  the  bounds  of 
possibility  made  Vanderlyn  for  a  moment  al- 
most hope  that  the  woman  for  whom  he  was 
waiting  would  not  come  after  all. 

He  cursed  himself  for  a  fool.  Why  had  he 
not  thought  of  driving  her  out  to  one  of  the 
smaller  stations  on  the  line  whence  they  could 
have  started,  if  not  unseen,  then  unobserved? 

But  soon  the  slowly-growing  suspicion  that 
she,  after  all,  was  perhaps  not  coming  to-night, 
brought  with  it  an  agonising  pang.  Very 
suddenly  there  occurred  to  him  the  horrible 
possibility  of  material  accident.  Mrs.  Par- 

24 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

geter  was  not  used  even  to  innocent  adven- 
ture ;  she  lived  the  guarded,  sheltered  existence 
which  belongs  of  right  to  those  women  whose 
material  good  fortune  all  their  less  fortunate 
sisters  envy.  The  dangers  of  the  Paris  streets 
rose  up  before  Vanderlyn's  excited  imagina- 
tion, hideous,  formidable.  .  .  . 

Then,  quite  suddenly,  Margaret  Pargeter 
herself  stood  before  him,  smiling  a  little  trem- 
ulously. 

She  was  wearing  a  grey,  rather  austere 
tailor-made  gown ;  it  gave  a  girlish  turn  to  her 
slender  figure,  and  on  her  fair  hair  was  poised 
the  little  boat-shaped  hat  and  long  silvery 
gauze  veil  which  have  become  in  a  sense  the 
uniform  of  a  well-dressed  Parisienne  on  her 
travels. 

As  he  looked  at  her,  standing  there  by  his 

side,  Vanderlyn  realised  how  instinctively  ten- 

25 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

der,  how  passionately  protective,  was  his  love 
for  her;  and  again  there  came  over  him  the 
doubt,  the  questioning,  as  to  why  she  was  do- 
ing this.  .  .  . 

"  Messieurs,  mesdames,  en  voiture,  s'il  vous 
plait!  En  voiture,  s'il  vous  plait!" 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder — her  head 
was  very  little  higher  than  his  heart — and 
guided  her  to  the  railway  carriage  which  had 
been  kept  for  them. 


II 

AND  now  Laurence  Vanderlyn  and  Mar- 
garet Pargeter  were  speeding  through  the 
night,  completely  and  physically  alone  as 
they  had  never  been  during  the  years  of  their 
long  acquaintanceship;  and,  as  he  sat  there, 
with  the  woman  he  had  loved  so  long  and  so 
faithfully  wholly  in  his  power,  there  came  over 
Vanderlyn  a  sense  of  fierce  triumph  and  con- 
quest. 

The  train  had  not  started  to  time.  There 
had  come  a  sound  of  eager  talking  on  the  plat- 
form, and  Vanderlyn,  filled  with  a  vague  ap- 
prehension, had  leaned  out  of  the  window  and 
with  some  difficulty  ascertained  the  cause  of 

the  delay.    The  guard  in  charge  of  the  train, 

27 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

the  man,  that  is,  whom  he  had  feed  so  well 
in  order  to  secure  privacy,  had  strained  his 
hand  in  lifting  a  weight,  and  another  employe 
had  had  to  take  his  place. 

But  at  last  the  few  moments  of  waiting — 
to  Vanderlyn  they  had  seemed  an  hour — had 
come  to  an  end.  At  last  the  train  began 
to  move,  that  slow  and  yet  relentless  move- 
ment which  is  one  of  the  few  things  in  our 
modern  world  which  spell  finality.  To  the 
man  and  the  woman  it  was  the  starting  of  the 
train  which  indicated  to  them  both  that  the 
die  was  indeed  cast. 

Vanderlyn  looked  at  his  companion.  She 
was  gazing  up  at  him  with  a  strange  expres- 
sion of  gladness,  of  relief,  on  her  face.  The 
long  years  of  restraint  and  measured  coldness 
seemed  to  have  vanished,  receded  into  noth- 
ingness. 

N 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

She  held  out  her  ringless  hand  and  clasped 
his,  and  a  moment  later  they  were  sitting 
hand  in  hand,  like  two  children,  side  by  side. 
With  a  rather  awkward  movement  he  slipped 
on  her  finger  a  thin  gold  ring — his  dead 
mother's  wedding  ring, — but  still  she  said 
nothing.  Her  head  was  turned  away,  and  she 
was  staring  out  of  the  window,  as  if  fasci- 
nated by  the  flying  lights.  He  knew  rather 
than  saw  that  her  eyes  were  shining,  her  cheeks 
pink  with  excitement;  then  she  took  off  her 
hat,  and  he  told  himself  that  her  fair  hair 
gleaming  against  the  grey-brown  furnishings 
of  the  railway  carriage  looked  like  a  golden 
aureole. 

Suddenly  Laurence  Vanderlyn  pressed  the 
hand  he  was  holding  to  his  lips,  dropped  it, 
and  then  stood  up.  He  pulled  the  blue  silk 
shade  over  the  electric  light  globe  which  hung 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

in  the  centre  of  the  carriage ;  glanced  through 
one  of  the  two  tiny  glazed  apertures  giving  a 
view  of  the  next  compartment;  then  he  sat 
down  by  her,  and  in  the  half  darkness  gath- 
ered her  into  his  arms. 

"Dear,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  sounded 
strange  and  muffled  even  to  himself,  "do  you 
remember  the  passage  at  Bonnington? " 

As  he  held  her,  she  had  been  looking  up  into 
his  face,  but  now,  hearing  his  question,  she 
flushed  deeply,  and  her  head  fell  forward  on 
his  breast.  Their  minds,  their  hearts,  were 
travelling  back  to  the  moment,  to  the  trifling 
episode,  which  had  revealed  to  each  the  other's 
love. 

It  had  happened  ten  years  ago,  at  a  time 
when  Tom  Pargeter,  desiring  to  play  the  role 
of  country  gentleman,  had  taken  for  a  while 

a  certain  historic  country  house.     There,  he 

so 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

and  his  young  wife  had  brought  together  a 
great  Christmas  house-party  composed  of  the 
odd,  ill-assorted  social  elements  which  gather 
at  the  call  of  the  wealthy  host  who  has  ex- 
changed old  friends  for  new  acquaintances. 
Peggy's  own  people,  old-fashioned  country 
gentry,  were  regarded  by  Pargeter  as  hope- 
lessly dowdy  and  "  out  of  it,"  so  none  of  them 
had  been  invited.  With  Laurence  Vanderlyn 
alone  had  the  young  mistress  of  the  house  had 
any  link  of  mutual  interests  or  sympathies; 
but  of  flirtation,  as  that  protean  word  was 
understood  by  those  about  them,  there  had 
been  none. 

Then,  on  Christmas  Eve,  had  come  the 
playing  of  childish  games,  though  no  children 
were  present,  for  the  two-year-old  child  of 
the  host  and  hostess  was  safe  in  bed.  It  was 
in  the  chances  of  one  of  these  games  that  Lau- 

81 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

rence  Vanderlyn  had  for  a  moment  caught 
Margaret  Pargeter  in  his  arms 

He  had  released  her  almost  at  once,  but  not 
before  they  had  exchanged  the  long  probing 
look  which  had  told  to  each  their  own  as  well 
as  the  other's  secret.  Till  that  moment  they 
had  been  strangers — from  that  moment  they 
were  lovers,  but  lovers  allowing  themselves 
none  of  love's  license,  and  very  soon  Vander- 
lyn had  taught  himself  to  be  content  with  all 
that  Peggy's  conscience  allowed  her  to  think 
possible. 

She  had  never  known — how  could  she  have 
known? — what  his  acquiescence  had  cost  him. 
Now  and  again,  during  the  long  years,  they 
had  been  compelled  to  discuss  the  abnormal 
relation  which  Peggy  called  their  friendship; 
together  they  had  trembled  at  the  fragile 
basis  on  which  what  most  human  beings  would 

32 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

have  considered  their  meagre  happiness  was 
founded. 

More  than  once  she  had  touched  him  to  the 
heart  by  asserting  that  she  felt  sure  that  the 
inscrutable  Providence  in  which  she  had  re- 
tained an  almost  childish  faith,  could  never  be 
so  cruel  as  to  deprive  her  of  the  only 
source  of  happiness,  apart  from  her  little  son, 
which  had  come  her  way;  and  so,  although 
their  intimacy  had  become  closer,  the  links 
which  bound  them  not  only  remained  platonic, 
but,  as  is  the  way  with  such  links,  tended  to 
become  more  platonic  as  the  time  went  on. 

Even  now,  as  he  sat  there  with  the  woman 
he  loved  wholly  in  his  power,  lying  in  his  arms 
with  her  face  pressed  to  his  breast,  Vander- 
lyn's  mind  was  in  a  maze  of  doubt  as  to  what 
was  to  be  their  relationship  during  the  coming 
days.  Even  now  he  was  not  sure  as  to  what 

33 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Peggy  had  meant  when  she  had  seemed  to 
plead,  more  with  herself  than  with  him,  for  a 
short  space  of  such  happiness  as  during  their 
long  intimacy  they  had  never  enjoyed. 

All  his  acquaintances,  including  his  official 
chief,  would  have  told  you  that  Laurence  Van- 
derlyn  was  an  accomplished  man  of  the  world, 
and  an  acute  student  of  human  nature,  but 
now,  to-night,  he  owned  himself  at  fault.  Only 
one  thing  was  quite  clear;  he  told  himself  that 
the  thought  of  again  taking  up  the  thread  of 
what  had  been  so  unnatural  an  existence  was 
hateful — impossible. 

Perhaps  the  woman  felt  the  man's  obscure 
moment  of  recoil;  she  gently  withdrew  herself 
from  his  arms.  "I'm  tired,"  she  said,  rather 
plaintively,  "  the  train  sways  so,.  Laurence.  I 
wonder  if  I  could  lie  down " 

He  heaped  up  the  cushions,  spread  out  the 
M 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

large  rug,  which  he  had  purchased  that  day, 
and  which  formed  their  only  luggage,  for 
everything  else,  by  her  wish,  had  been  sent  on 
the  day  before. 

Very  tenderly  he  wrapped  the  folds  of  the 
rug  round  her.  Then  he  knelt  by  her  side; 
and  at  once  she  put  out  her  arms,  and  pulled 
his  head  down  close  to  hers;  a  moment  later 
her  soft  lips  were  laid  against  his  cheek.  He 
remembered,  with  a  retrospective  pang,  the 
ache  at  his  heart  with  which  the  sight  of  her 
caresses  to  her  child  had  always  filled  him. 

"Peggy,"  he  whispered,  "tell  me,  my  be- 
loved, why  are  you  being  so  good  to  me — 
now? " 

She  made  no  direct  answer  to  the  question. 
Instead,  she  moved  away  a  little,  and  raised 
herself  on  her  elbow ;  her  blue  eyes,  filled  with 

a  strange  solemnity,  rested  on  his  moved  face. 

35 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"  Listen,"  she  said,  "  I  want  to  tell  you 
something,  Laurence.  I  want  you  to  know 
that  I  understand  how — how  angelic  you  have 
been  to  me  all  these  years.  Ever  since  we  first 
knew  one  another,  you  have  given  me  every- 
thing— everything  in  exchange  for  nothing." 

And  as  he  shook  his  head,  she  continued, 
"  Yes,  for  nothing !  For  a  long  time  I  tried  to 
persuade  myself  that  this  was  not  so — I  tried 
to  believe  that  you  were  as  contented  as  I  had 
taught  myself  to  be.  I  first  realised  what  a 
hindrance  " —  she  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said  the  two  words  " — our  friendship — 
must  have  proved  to  you  four  years  ago, — 
when  you  might  have  gone  to  St.  Petersburg." 

As  Vanderlyn  allowed  an  exclamation  of 
surprise  to  escape  him,  she  went  on,  "Yes, 
Laurence,  you  have  never  known  that  I  knew 

of  that  chance — of  that  offer.    Adele  de  Lera 

86 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

heard  of  it,  and  told  me ;  she  begged  me  then, 
oh!  so  earnestly,  to  give  you  up — to  let  you 

go." 

"  It  was  no  business  of  hers,"  he  muttered, 
"I  never  thought  for  a  moment  of  accept- 

ing " 

" — But  you  would  have  done  so  if  you  had 
never  known  me,  if  we  had  not  been 
friends?"  She  looked  up  at  him,  hoping, 
longing,  for  a  quick  word  of  denial. 

But  Vanderlyn  said  no  such  word.  Instead, 
he  fell  manlike  into  the  trap  she  had  perhaps 
unwittingly  laid  for  him. 

"  If  I  had  never  known  you?"  he  repeated, 
"why,  Peggy — dearest — my  whole  life  would 
have  been  different  if  I  had  never  known  you ! 
Do  you  really  think  that  I  should  have  been 
here  in  Paris,  doing  what  I  am  now  doing — or 

rather  doing  nothing — if  we  had  never  met? " 

37 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

The  honest,  unmeditated  answer  made  her 
wince,  but  she  went  on,  as  if  she  had  not 
heard  it — 

"  As  you  know,  I  did  not  take  Adele's  ad- 
vice, but  I  have  never  forgotten,  Laurence, 
some  of  the  things  she  said." 

A  look  which  crossed  his  face  caused  her 
to  redden,  and  add  hastily,  "  She's  not  given 
to  speaking  of  you — of  us;  indeed  she's  not! 
She  never  again  alluded  to  the  matter;  but 
the  other  day  when  I  was  persuading  her, — she 
required  a  good  deal  of  persuasion,  Laurence 
— to  consent  to  my  plan,  I  reminded  her  of  all 
she  had  said  four  years  ago." 

"And  what  was  it  that  she  did  say  four 
years  ago? "  asked  Vanderlyn  with  a  touch 
of  angry  curiosity;  "as  Madame  de  Lera 
is  a  Frenchwoman,  and  a  pious  Catholic,  I 
presume  she  tried  to  make  you  believe  that  our 

38 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

friendship  was  wrong,  and  could  only  lead  to 
one  thing "  he  stopped  abruptly. 

"  No,"  said  Peggy,  quietly,  "  she  did  not 
think  then  that  our  friendship  would  lead  to 
— to  this ;  she  thought  in  some  ways  better  of 
me  than  I  deserve.  But  she  did  tell  me  that 
I  was  taking  a  great  responsibility  on  myself, 
and  that  if  anything  happened — for  instance, 
if  I  died "  Vanderlyn  again  made  a  rest- 
less, almost  a  contemptuous  movement — "I 
should  have  been  the  cause  of  your  wasting  the 
best  years  of  your  life;  I  should  have  broken 
and  spoilt  your  career,  and  all — all  for  noth- 
ing." 

"  Nothing? "  exclaimed  Vanderlyn  passion- 
ately. "Ah!  Peggy,  do  not  say  that.  You 
know,  you  must  know,  that  our  love — I  will 
not  call  it  friendship,"  he  went  on  resolutely, 

"for  this  one  week  let  no  such  false  word  be 

39 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

uttered  between  us — you  must  know,  I  say, 
that  our  love  has  been  everything  to  me!  Till 
I  met  you,  my  life  was  empty,  miserable; 
since  I  met  you  it  has  been  filled,  satisfied,  and 
that  even  if  I  have  received  what  Madame  de 
Lera  dares  to  call — nothing! " 

He  spoke  with  a  fervour,  a  conviction, 
which  to  the  woman  over  whom  he  was  now 
leaning  brought  exquisite  solace.  At  last  he 
was  speaking  as  she  had  longed  to  hear  him 
speak. 

"  You  don't  know,"  she  whispered  brokenly, 
"how  happy  you  make  me  by  saying  this  to- 
night, Laurence.  I  have  sometimes  wondered 
lately  if  you  cared  for  me  as  much  as  you 
used  to  care? " 

Vanderlyn's  dark  face  contracted  with  pain ; 
he  was  no  Don  Juan,  learned  in  the  byways  of 
a  woman's  heart.  Then,  almost  roughly,  he 

40 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

caught  her  to  him,  and  she,  looking  up,  saw 
a  strange  glowing  look  come  over  his  face — a 
look  which  was,  even  to  her,  an  all-sufficing 
answer,  for  it  told  of  the  baffled  longing,  of 
the  abnegation,  and,  even  now,  of  the  restraint 
and  selflessness,  of  the  man  who  loved  her. 

"Did  you  really  think  that,  Peggy?"  was 
all  he  said;  then,  more  slowly,  as  the  arms 
about  her  relaxed  their  hold,  "  Why,  my  dear, 
you've  always  been — you  are — my  life." 

A  sudden  sob,  a  cry  of  joy  broke  from  her. 
She  sat  up,  and  with  a  quick  passionate  move- 
ment flung  herself  on  his  breast;  slowly  she 
raised  her  face  to  his:  "  I  love  you,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  Laurence,  I  love  you!" 

His  lips  trembled  for  a  moment  on  her 
closed  eyelids,  then  sought  and  found  her  soft, 
quivering  mouth.  But  even  then  Vanderlyn's 

love  was  reverent,  restrained  in  its  expression, 

411 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

yet  none  the  less,  perhaps  the  more,  a  binding 
sacrament. 

At  last,  "  Why  did  you  subject  us,"  he  said, 
huskily,  "to  such  an  ordeal?  What  has  made 
you  give  way — now?  How  can  you  dream  of 
going  back,  after  a  week,  to  our  old  life? " 
But  even  as  he  asked  the  searching  questions, 
he  laid  her  back  gently  on  her  improvised 
couch. 

Woman-like  she  did  not  give  him  a  direct 
response,  then,  quite  suddenly,  she  yielded  him 
the  key  to  the  mystery. 

"  Because,  Laurence,  the  last  time  I  was  in 
England,  something  happened  which  altered 
my  outlook  on  life." 

She  uttered  the  words  with  strange  solem- 
nity, but  Vanderlyn's  ears  were  holden;  true, 
he  heard  her  answer  to  his  question,  but  the 
word  conveyed  little  or  nothing  to  him. 

42 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

He  was  still  riding  the  whirlwind  of  his  own 
poignant  emotion ;  he  was  telling  himself,  with 
voiceless  and  yet  most  binding  oaths,  that 
never,  never  should  the  woman  whose  heart 
had  just  beaten  against  his  heart,  whose  lips 
had  just  trembled  beneath  his  lips,  go  back  to 
act  the  part  of  even  the  nominal  wife  to  Tom 
Pargeter.  He  would  consent  to  any  condi- 
tion imposed  by  her,  as  long  as  they  could  be 
together;  surely  even  she  would  understand, 
if  not  now,  then  later,  that  there  are  certain 
moments  which  can  never  be  obliterated  or 
treated  as  if  they  have  not  been.  .  .  . 

It  was  with  difficulty — with  a  feeling  that 
he  was  falling  from  high  heaven  to  earth — that 
he  forced  himself  to  listen  to  her  next 
words. 

"  As  you  know,  I  stayed,  when  in  England, 
with  Sophy  Pargeter " 

43 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Again  she  looked  up  at  him,  as  if  hesitating 
what  she  should  say. 

"  Sophy  Pargeter? "  he  repeated  the  name 
mechanically,  but  with  a  sudden  wincing. 

Vanderlyn  had  always  disliked,  with  a 
rather  absurd,  unreasoning  dislike,  Peggy's 
plain-featured,  rough-tongued  sister-in-law. 
To  him  Sophy  Pargeter  had  ever  been  a  gro- 
tesque example  of  the  deep — they  almost  ap- 
pear racial — differences  which  may,  and  so 
often  do,  exist  between  different  members  of 
a  family  whose  material  prosperity  is  due  to 
successful  commerce. 

The  vast  inherited  wealth  which  had  made 
of  Tom  Pargeter  a  selfish,  pleasure-loving,  un- 
moral human  being,  had  transformed  his  sis- 
ter Sophy  into  a  woman  oppressed  by  the  be- 
lief that  it  was  her  duty  to  spend  the  greater 
part  of  her  considerable  income  in  what  she 

44 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

believed  to  be  good  works.  She  regarded  with 
grim  disapproval  her  brother's  way  of  life,  and 
she  condemned  even  his  innocent  pleasures; 
she  had,  however,  always  been  fond  of  Peggy. 
Laurence  Vanderlyn,  himself  the  outcome  and 
product  of  an  old  Puritan  New  England  and 
Dutch  stock,  was  well  aware  of  the  horror  and 
amazement  with  which  Miss  Pargeter  would 
regard  Peggy's  present  action. 

"  Well,  Laurence,  the  day  that  I  arrived 
there,  I  mean  at  Sophy's  house,  I  felt  very  ill. 
I  suppose  the  journey  had  tired  me,  for  I 

fainted "  Again  she  hesitated,  as  if  not 

knowing  how  to  frame  her  next  sentence. 

"  Sophy  was  horribly  frightened.  She 
would  send  for  her  doctor,  and  though  he  said 
there  was  nothing  much  the  matter  with  me, 
he  insisted  that  I  ought  to  see  another  man — a 
specialist." 

45 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Peggy  looked  up  with  an  anxious  expression 
in  her  blue  eyes — but  again  Vanderlyn's  ears 
and  eyes  were  holden.  He  habitually  felt  for 
the  medical  profession  the  unreasoning  dis- 
like, almost  the  contempt,  your  perfectly 
healthy  human  being,  living  in  an  ailing  world, 
often — in  fact  almost  always — does  feel  for 
those  who  play  the  role  of  the  old  augurs  in 
our  modern  life.  Mrs.  Pargeter  had  never 
been  a  strong  woman;  she  was  often  ill,  often 
in  the  doctor's  hands.  So  it  was  that  Vander- 
lyn  did  not  realise  the  deep  import  of  her  next 
words 

"  Sophy  went  with  me  to  London — she  was 
really  very  kind  about  it  all,  and  you  would 
have  liked  her  better,  Laurence,  if  you  had 
seen  her  that  day.  The  specialist  did  all  the 
usual  things,  then  he  told  me  to  go  on  much 

as  I  had  been  doing,  and  to  avoid  any  sudden 

46 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

shock  or  excitement — in  fact  he  said  almost  ex- 
actly what  that  dear  old  French  doctor  said  to 
me  a  year  ago " 

She  waited  a  moment :  "  Then,  Laurence,  the 
next  day,  when  Sophy  thought  I  had  got  over 
the  journey  to  London,"  Peggy  smiled  at  him 
a  little  whimsical  smile,  "  she  told  me  that  she 
thought  I  ought  to  know — it  was  her  duty  to 
tell  me — that  I  had  heart  disease,  and  that, 
though  I  should  probably  live  a  long  time,  it 
was  possible  I  might  die  at  any  moment " 

A  sudden  wrath  filled  the  dark,  sensitive 
face  of  the  man  bending  over  her. 

"  What  nonsense! "  he  exclaimed  with  angry 
decision.  "  What  will  the  doctors  say  next,  I 
wonder!  I  wish  to  God  you  would  make  up 
your  mind,  Peggy,  once  and  for  all,  never  to 
see  a  doctor  again!  I  beg  of  you,  if  only  for 

my  sake,  to  promise  me  that  you  will  not  go 

47 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

again  to  any  doctor  till  I  give  you  permission 
to  do  so.  You  don't  know  what  I  went  through 
five  years  ago  when  one  of  those  charlatans 
declared  that  he  would  not  answer  for  the  con- 
sequences if  you  didn't  winter  South,  and — 
and  Tom  would  not  let  you  go !  " 

He  paused,  and  then  added  more  gently, 
"And  yet  nothing  happened — you  were  none 
the  worse  for  spending  that  winter  in  cold 
Leicestershire  I " 

'  Yes,  that's  true,"  she  answered  submis- 
sively, "  I  will  make  you  the  promise  you  ask, 
Laurence.  I  daresay  I  have  been  foolish  in 
going  so  often  to  doctors;  I  don't  know  that 
they  have  ever  done  me  much  good." 

His  eyes,  having  now  become  quite  accus- 
tomed to  the  dim  light,  suddenly  seemed  to  see 
in  her  face  a  slight  change;  a  look  of  fatigue 

and  depression  had  crept  over  her  mouth.    He 

48 


THE    UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

told  himself  with  a  pang  that  after  all  she 
was  a  delicate,  fragile  human  being — or  was 
it  the  blue  shade  which  threw  a  strange  pal- 
lor on  the  face  he  was  scrutinising  with  such 
deep,  wistful  tenderness? 

He  bent  over  her  and  tucked  the  rug  round 
her  feet. 

"Turn  round  and  try  to  go  to  sleep,"  he 
whispered.  "  It's  a  long,  long  journey  by  this 
train.  I'll  wake  you  in  good  time  before  we 
get  to  Dorgival." 

She  turned,  as  he  told  her,  obediently,  and 
then,  acting  on  a  sudden  impulse,  she  pulled 
him  down  once  more  to  her,  and  kissed  him  as 
a  child  might  have  done.  "  Good-night,"  he 
said,  "  good-night,  my  love — '  enchanting, 
noble  little  Peggy!'" 

A  smile  lit  up  her  face  radiantly.    It  was 

a  long,  long  time  since  Vanderlyn  had  last  ut- 

49 


tered  the  charming  lines  first  quoted  by  him 
very  early  in  their  acquaintance,  when  he  had 
seen  her  among  her  own  people,  one  of  a  band 
of  joyous  English  boys  and  girls  celebrating 
a  family  festival — the  golden  wedding  of  her 
grandparents.  Peggy  had  been  delicately,  de- 
liciously  kind  to  the  shy,  proud  American 
youth,  whom  an  introduction  from  valued 
friends  had  suddenly  made  free  of  an  English 
family  clan. 

That  had  been  a  year  before  her  marriage 
to  Tom  Pargeter,  the  inheritor  of  a  patent  dye 
process  which  had  made  him  master  of  one  of 
those  fantastic  fortunes  which  impress  the 
imagination  of  even  the  unimaginative.  That 
the  young  millionaire  should  deign  to  throw 
the  matrimonial  handkerchief  at  their  little 
Peggy  had  seemed  to  her  family  a  piece  of 
magic  good  fortune.  She  could  bring  him 
good  old  blood,  and  certain  great  social  con- 

50 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

nections,  in  exchange  for  limitless  wealth;  it 
had  been  regarded  as  an  ideal  marriage. 

More  than  four  years  went  by  before  Van- 
derlyn  again  saw  Peggy,  and  then  he  had 
found  her  changed — transformed  from  a 
merry,  light-hearted  girl  into  a  pensive,  re- 
served woman.  During  the  interval  he  had 
often  thought  of  her  as  one  thinks  of  a  delight- 
ful playfellow,  but  he  only  came  to  love  her 
after  their  second  meeting — when  he  had  seen, 
at  first  with  honest  dismay,  and  then  with 
shame- faced  gladness,  how  utterly  ill-mated 
she  and  Tom  Pargeter  were  the  one  to  the 
other. 

Vanderlyn  made  his  way  over  to  the  other 
side  of  the  railway  carriage ;  there  he  sat  down, 
and,  crossing  his  arms  on  his  breast,  after  a 
very  few  moments  he  fell  into  a  deep,  dream- 
less sleep. 

51 


VANDERLYN  woke  with  a  start.  He  looked 
round,  bewildered  for  a  moment.  Then  his 
brain  cleared,  and  he  felt  vexed  with  himself,  a 
little  ashamed  of  having  slept.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  had  been  asleep  hours.  How 
odious  it  would  have  been  if  at  the  first 
stopping  place  of  the  demi-rapide  some 
stranger  had  entered  the  railway  carriage !  In- 
stead of  sleeping,  he  ought  to  have  remained 
watching  over  that  still  figure  which  lay  so 
quietly  resting  on  the  other  side  of  the  car- 
riage. 

He   stood  up.     How  tired  he   felt,  how 
strangely  depressed  and  uneasy!     But  that, 

after  all,  was  natural,  for  his  last  four  nights 

52 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

had  been  wakeful,  his  last  four  days  full  of ' 
anxiety  and  suspense. 

He  turned  and  looked  out  of  the  window, 
wondering  where  they  were,  how  far  they  had 
gone;  the  train  was  travelling  very  quickly, 
he  could  see  white  tree-trunks  rushing  past 
him  in  the  moonlight. 

Then  Vanderlyn  took  out  his  watch.  Surely 
it  must  be  later  than  nine  o'clock?  He  moved 
from  the  window  and  held  the  dial  close  under 
the  blue  silk  shade  of  the  lamp.  Why,  it  was 
only  three  minutes  to  nine !  Then  they  hadn't 
yet  passed  Dorgival;  in  fact  they  wouldn't  be 
there  for  another  twenty  minutes,  for  this  train 
took  two  hours  to  do  what  the  quick  expresses 
accomplished  in  an  hour  and  a  quarter. 

It  was  good  to  know  that  he  had  only 
slept  for  quite  a  little  while.  The  desire  for 
sleep  had  now  left  him  completely,  and  he  be- 

53 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

gan  to  feel  excited,  restless,  and  intensely, 
glowingly  alive.  .  .  . 

The  curious  depression  and  unease  which 
had  possessed  him  a  few  moments  ago  lifted 
from  his  soul;  the  future  was  once  more  full 
of  infinite  possibilities.. 

His  darling  little  Peggy!  What  strange 
beings  women  were!  With  what  self -con- 
tempt, with  what  scorpions  would  he  have 
lashed  himself,  had  he  been  the  one  to  evolve 
this  plan  of  this  furtive  flight,  to  be  followed 
at  the  end  of  a  week  by  a  return  to  the  life  to 
which  he  now  looked  back  with  shame  as  well 
as  distaste !  And  yet  she,  the  woman  he  loved, 
had  evolved  it,  and  thought  out  every  detail 
of  the  scheme — before  telling  him  of  what  was 
in  her  mind.  .  .  . 

As  to  the  future?  Vanderlyn  threw  back  his 
head;  nay,  nay,  there  could  be  no  going  back 

54 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

to  what  had  been.  Even  Peggy  would  see 
that.  She  had  herself  broken  down  the  barrier 
erected  with  such  care;  and  soon,  very  soon  she 
would — she  must — see  that  such  breaches  can 
never  be  repaired  or  treated  as  if  they  had 
not  been  made.  What  had  happened,  what 
was  happening,  to-night,  was,  in  very  truth 
the  beginning,  for  them  both,  of  a  new  life. 

So  Laurence  Vanderlyn  swore  to  himself, 
taking  many  silent  vows  of  chivalrous  devo- 
tion to  the  woman  who,  for  love  of  him,  had 
broken,  not  only  with  lifelong  traditions  of 
honour,  but  also  with  a  conscience  he  had 
known  to  be  so  delicately  scrupulous. 

From  where  he  was  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  swaying  carriage,  something  in  the  way 
in  which  his  sleeping  companion's  head  was  ly- 
ing suddenly  aroused  Vanderlyn's  quick,  keen 

55 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

attention.  Putting  out  a  hand  to  steady  him- 
self against  the  back  of  the  compartment,  he 
bent  down — indifferent  to  the  risk  of  rousing 
the  still  figure. 

Then,  with  a  rapid  movement,  he  straight- 
ened himself;  his  face  had  gone  grey — expres- 
sionless. He  pushed  back  the  blue  shade  off 
the  globe  of  light,  careless  of  the  bright  rays 
which  suddenly  illumined  every  corner  of  the 
railway  carriage.  .  .  . 

With  an  instinctive  gesture,  Vanderlyn  cov- 
ered his  eyes  and  shut  out  the  blinding  light. 
He  pressed  his  fingers  on  his  eyeballs;  every 
fibre  of  his  body,  every  quivering  nerve  was  in 
revolt:  for  he  realised,  even  then,  that  there 
was  no  room  for  hope,  for  doubt, — he  knew 
that  what  he  had  looked  upon  in  the  dim  light 
was  death. 

With  an  awful  pang  he  now  understood 
56 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

why  Peggy  had  made  him  that  strange  pa- 
thetic offer.  How  blind  he  had  been!  The 
English  doctor,  the  man  on  whom  he  had 
poured  such  careless  scorn,  had  been  right, — 
terribly  right. 

At  last  he  uncovered  his  eyes,  and  forced 
himself  to  gaze  upon  what  lay  before  him 

Margaret  Pargeter  had  died  in  her  sleep. 
She  was  lying  exactly  as  Vanderlyn  had  left 
her,  still  folded  closely  in  the  rug  he  had  placed 
so  tenderly  about  her.  But  a  terrible  change 
had  come  over  the  delicate  features — the  sight- 
less eyes  were  wide  open,  the  lips  had  fallen 
apart ;  his  glance,  travelling  down,  saw  that  her 
left  hand,  the  hand  where  gleamed  his  mother's 
wedding  ring,  was  slightly  clenched. 

Again  Vanderlyn  passed  his  hand  over  his 
eyes.  He  stared  about  him  with  a  touch  of 

helpless  bewilderment,  but  he  could  do  nothing, 

57 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

even  if  there  had  been  anything  to  do;  it  was 
she  who  had  insisted  that  they  should  be  un- 
encumbered by  any  luggage. 

He  crouched  down,  and,  with  an  involuntary 
inward  shrinking,  took  up  the  chilly,  heavy 
hand  and  tried  to  warm  it  against  his  cheek; 
then  he  shivered,  his  teeth  chattered,  with  a 
groan  of  which  the  sound  echoed  strangely  in 
his  ears  he  hid  his  face  in  the  folds  of  her  grey 
cloth  gown For  a  few  moments  the  ex- 
tent of  his  calamity  blotted  out  everything. 

And  then,  as  Vanderlyn  lay  there,  there  sud- 
denly opened  before  him  a  way  of  escape  from 
his  intolerable  agony  and  sense  of  loss,  and  he 
welcomed  it  with  eager  relief.  He  raised  his 
head,  and  began  to  think  intently.  How  in- 
explicable that  he  had  not  thought  of  this — 
the  only  way — at  once!  It  was  so  simple  and 
so  easy;  he  saw  himself  flinging  wide  open  the 

58 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

narrow  carriage  door,  and  then,  with  that  still 
figure  clasped  in  his  arms,  stepping  out  into 
the  rushing  darkness.  .  .  . 

His  mind  was  now  working  with  incredible 
quickness  and  clearness.  How  good  it  was  to 
know  that  here,  in  France,  there  need  be — 
there  would  be — no  public  scandal!  In  Eng- 
land or  America  the  supposed  suicide  of  two 
such  people  as  were  Margaret  Pargeter  and 
himself  could  not  hope  to  be  concealed;  not  so 
in  France. 

Here,  as  Vanderlyn  knew  well,  there  was 
every  chance  that  such  a  love  tragedy  as  the 
one  of  which  he  and  Mrs.  Pargeter  would  be 
supposed  to  have  been  hero  and  heroine,  would 
remain  hidden — hidden,  that  is,  from  everyone 
except  those  closely  connected  with  her  and 
with  himself.  His  own  chief,  the  American 
Ambassador,  would  be  informed  of  what  had 

59 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

happened,  but  he  was  a  wise  old  man,  there 
was  no  fear  of  indiscretion  in  that  quarter; 
but — yes,  he,  Vanderlyn,  must  face  that  fact 
— Tom  Pargeter  would  know  the  truth. 

Vanderlyn's  hidden  abhorrence  of  the  other 
mant — of  the  man  whose  friend  he  had  per- 
force compelled  himself  to  be  for  so  long,  rose 
in  a  great  flood. 

Tom  Pargeter?  The  selfish,  mean-souled, 
dull-witted  human  being,  whose  huge  fortune, 
coupled  with  the  masculine  virtues  of  physi- 
cal courage  and  straightness  in  matters  of 
sport,  made  him  not  only  popular  but  in  a 
small  way  a  personage!  Pargeter,  no  doubt, 
would  suffer,  especially  in  his  self-esteem;  on 
the  other  hand,  he,  the  husband,  would  feel 
that  so  had  his  own  conduct,  his  coarse  infidel- 
ity, his  careless  neglect  of  his  wife,  been  fully 

condoned. 

60 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

With  a  choking  feeling  of  sharp  pain,  Van- 
derlyn  suddenly  remembered  that  what  Tom 
Pargeter  knew  now,  poor  Peggy's  son  would 
some  day  have  to  know.  For  a  while,  no 
doubt,  the  boy  would  be  kept  in  merciful  igno- 
rance of  the  tragedy,  but  then,  when  the  lad 
was  growing  into  manhood,  some  blundering 
fool,  or  more  likely  some  well-intentioned 
woman,  probably  his  aunt,  Sophy  Pargeter, 
would  feel  it  her  duty  to  smirch  for  him  his 
mother's  memory.  .  .  . 

Nay,  that  could  not,  that  must  never,  be! 
Vanderlyn's  head  fell  forward  on  his  breast; 
there  came  back,  wrapping  him  as  in  a  shroud, 
the  awful  feeling  of  desolation,  of  life-long 
loss, — for  he  now  knew,  with  inexorable  knowl- 
edge, what  the  future  held  for  him. 

It  must  be  his  fate  to  live,  not  die ;  he  must 

live  in  order  to  safeguard  the  honour  of  Mar- 

61 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

garet  Pargeter,  the  beloved  woman  who  had 
trusted  him  wholly,  not  only  in  this,  which  was 
to  have  been  their  supreme  adventure,  but  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  their  long,  almost  wordless 
love.  It  was  for  her  sake  that,  she  dead,  he 
must  go  on  living;  for  her  sake  he  must  make 
what  now,  at  this  moment,  seemed  to  be  a  sac- 
rifice almost  beyond  his  power,  for  reason  told 
him  that  he  must  leave  her,  and  as  soon  as 
possible,  lying  there  dead — alone. 

With  tender,  absent  fingers  he  smoothed  out 
the  woollen  folds  to  which  his  face  had  been 
pressed;  he  slipped  from  her  finger  the  thin 
gold  ring,  and  placed  it  once  more  where  he 
had  always  worn  it  from  the  day  of  his  mother's 
death  till  an  hour  ago. 

Then  he  stood  up,  and  turned  deliberately 
away. 

There  came  the  loud  wailing  whistle  which 
62 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

told  that  the  train  was  nearing  a  station.  He 
leaned  out  of  the  window ;  the  lights  of  a  town 
were  flashing  past,  and  he  grimly  told  him- 
self that  there  was  no  time  to  lose. 

Vanderlyn  again  bent  down;  the  instinctive 
repugnance  of  the  living  for  the  dead  suddenly 
left  him.  His  darling  little  Peggy!  How 
could  he  bear  to  leave  her  there — alone?  If  he 
and  she  had  been  what  they  ought  to  have  been 
— husband  and  wife — even  then,  he  felt  that 
never  would  he  have  left  her  to  the  neglect, 
to  the  forgetfulness  to  which  other  men  leave 
their  beloved  dead.  There  rose  before  him  the 
memory  of  one  of  the  most  moving  of  the 
world's  great  pictures,  Goya's  painting  of 
mad  Queen  Joan  bearing  about  with  her  the 
unburied  body  of  Philip. 

He  turned  that  which  had  been  Mar- 
garet Pargeter  so  that  her  face  would  be  com- 

63 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

pletely  hidden  from  anyone  opening  the  door 
and  looking  into  the  carriage. 

Yet,  even  as  he  was  doing  this,  Vanderlyn 
kept  a  sharp  watch  and  ward  over  his  own 
nerves.  His  had  now  become  the  mental  atti- 
tude of  a  man  who  desires  to  save  the  living 
woman  whom  he  loves  from  some  great  physi- 
cal danger.  Blessing  his  own  foresight  in 
providing  the  large  rug  which  he  had  folded 
about  her  so  tenderly  an  hour  ago,  he  pulled 
up  a  fold  of  it  till  it  covered,  and  completely 
concealed,  her  head.  Should  a  traveller  now 
enter  the  carriage  he  would  see  nothing  but  a 
woman  apparently  plunged  in  deep  slumber. 

Again  Vanderlyn  glanced,  with  far  more 
scrutinising  eyes  than  he  had  done  when  first 
entering  the  train,  through  the  two  glazed 
apertures  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  next 

carriage;  it  was,  as  he  knew  well,  empty. 

64 


I 

THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

He  turned  once  more  the  silk  shade  over  the 
lamp,  jammed  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  set 
his  lips  together,  and,  averting  his  eyes  from 
what  he  was  leaving,  opened  the  railway  car- 
riage door.  .  .  . 

The  train  was  slowing  down;  a  few  hundred 
yards  ahead  lay  the  station.  Vanderlyn 
stepped  to  one  side  of  the  footboard,  and 
waited  till  the  door  through  which  he  had  just 
passed  swung  to;  then  he  turned  the  handle, 
securing  it  firmly. 

With  soft,  swift  steps,  he  walked  past 
the  window  of  the  now  darkened  carriage 
and  slipped  into  the  next  empty,  brightly- 
lighted  compartment.  There  came  over 
him  a  strong  temptation  to  look  through  the 
little  apertures  giving  into  the  darkened 
carriage  he  had  just  left,  but  it  was  a  tempta- 
tion which  he  resisted.  Instead,  he  leant  out 

65 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

of  the  window,  as  does  a  traveller  who  is  near- 
ing  his  destination. 

Soon  there  floated  up  to  him  the  shouting  of 
"  Dorgival!  Cinq  minutes  d'arret!  "  and  when 
the  train  at  last  stopped,  there  arose  the  joyous 
chatter  which  attends  every  arrival  in  a  French 
station. 

Vanderlyn  waited  for  a  few  moments ;  then 
he  stepped  down  from  the  carriage,  and  began 
walking  quietly  down  the  platform.  With  in- 
tense relief  he  remembered  that  the  guard  of 
the  train  whom  he  had  feed  so  well,  and  who 
must  have  noticed  him  with  Peggy,  had  been 
left  behind  in  Paris. 

Having  passed  the  end  compartment  and 
guard's  van  he  stood  for  a  while  staring  down 
at  the  permanent  way,  counting  the  rails  which 
gleamed  in  the  half  darkness.  He  measured 
with  his  eyes  the  distance  which  separated  the 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

platform  on  which  he  was  standing  from  that 
whence  the  next  train  back  to  Paris  must 
start. 

There  was  very  little  risk  either  of  accident 
or  detection,  but  it  was  his  duty  to  minimise 
whatever  risk  there  was.  He  dropped  down 
gently  on  to  the  permanent  way,  and  stood 
for  a  moment  in  the  deep  shadow  cast  by  the 
rear  of  the  train  he  had  just  left;  then,  cau- 
tiously advancing,  he  looked  both  up  and  down 
the  line,  and  made  his  way  to  the  other  side. 

The  platform  on  which  he  now  found  him- 
self was  deserted,  for  the  whole  life  of  the 
station  was  still  centred  round  the  train  which 
had  just  arrived;  but  as  he  started  across  the 
rails  Vanderlyn  became  possessed  with  a  feel- 
ing of  acute,  almost  intolerable,  suspense.  He 
longed  with  a  feverish  longing  to  see  the  demi- 

rapide  glide  out  into  the  darkness.    He  told 

67 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

himself  he  had  been  a  fool  to  suppose  that  any- 
one could  enter  the  darkened  carriage  where 
the  dead  woman  lay  without  at  once  discover- 
ing the  truth, — and  he  began  asking  himself 
what  he  would  do  were  the  awful  discovery 
made,  and  were  the  fact  that  he  had  been  her 
travelling  companion  suddenly  revealed  or  sus- 
pected. 

But  Laurence  Vanderlyn  was  not  subjected 
to  so  dread  an  ordeal;  at  last  there  floated 
to  where  he  was  standing  the  welcome  cry  of 
"En  voiture!  En  voiture,  s'il  vous  plait!" 
The  dark  serpentine  mass  on  which  the  lonely 
man's  eyes  were  fixed  shivered  as  though  it 
were  a  sentient  being  waking  to  life,  and  slowly 
the  train  began  to  move. 

Vanderlyn  started  walking  up  the  platform, 
and  for  a  while  he  kept  in  step  with  the 
slowly  gliding  carriages;  then  they  swept  by 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

more  quickly,  a  swift  procession  of  gleaming 
lights.  .  .  . 

As  at  last  the  red  disc  melted  into  the  night, 
he  gave  a  muffled  groan  of  anguish,  for  min- 
gling with  his  sense  of  intense  relief,  came  that 
of  eternal,  irreparable  loss. 

Ironic  fortune  was  kind  to  Vanderlyn  that 
night ;  his  return  ticket  from  far-away  Orange, 
though  only  issued  in  Paris  some  two  hours 
before,  was  allowed  to  pass  unchallenged;  and 
a  couple  of  francs  bestowed  on  a  communica- 
tive employe  drew  the  welcome  news  that  a 
southern  express  bound  for  Paris  was  about  to 
stop  at  Dorvigal. 


IV 

IT  was  only  eleven  o'clock  when  Vanderlyn 
found  himself  once  more  in  the  Gare  de  Lyon. 
He  walked  quickly  out  of  the  great  station 
which  was  henceforth  to  hold  for  him  such 
intimately  tender  and  poignant  memories ;  and 
then,  instead  of  taking  a  cab,  he  made  his  way 
on  foot  down  to  the  lonely  Seine-side  quays. 

There,  leaning  over  and  staring  down  into 
the  swift  black  waters  of  the  river,  he  planned 
out  his  drab  immediate  future. 

In  one  sense  the  way  was  clear  before  him, 
— he  must  of  course  go  on  exactly  as  before; 
show  himself,  that  is,  in  his  usual  haunts ;  take 
the  moderate  part  he  had  hitherto  taken  in 
what  he  felt  to  be  the  dreary  round  of  so- 
called  pleasures  with  which  Paris  was  now 

70 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

seething.  That  must  be  his  task — his  easy  and 
yet  intolerable  task — during  the  next  week  or 
ten  days,  until  the  disappearance  of  Margaret 
Pargeter  became  first  suspected,  and  then  dis- 
covered. 

But  before  that  was  likely  to  happen  many 
long  days  would  certainly  go  by,  for, — as  is  so 
often  the  case  when  a  man  and  woman  have 
become,  in  secret,  everything  to  one  another, 
Laurence  Vanderlyn  and  Mrs.  Pargeter  had 
gradually  detached  themselves  from  all  those 
whom  they  had  once  called  their  friends,  and 
even  Peggy  had  had  no  intimate  who  would 
miss  a  daily,  or  even  a  weekly,  letter. 

Indeed,  it  was  just  possible,  so  Vanderlyn, 
resting  his  arms  on  the  stone  parapet,  now  told 
himself,  that  the  first  part  of  his  ordeal  might 
last  as  long  as  a  fortnight,  that  is,  till  Tom 

Pargeter  came  back  from  England. 

7i 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

There  was  of  course  yet  another  possibility ; 
it  was  conceivable  that  everything  would  not 
fall  out  as  they,  or  rather  Peggy,  had  imag- 
ined. Pargeter,  for  instance,  might  return 
sooner;  and,  if  he  did  so,  he  would  certainly 
require  his  wife's  immediate  presence  in  Paris, 
for  the  millionaire  was  one  of  those  men 
who  hate  to  be  alone  even  in  their  spare  mo- 
ments. Also  more  than  his  wife's  company, 
Pargeter  valued  her  presence  as  part  of  what 
the  French  so  excellently  style  the  decor  of  his 
life;  she  was  his  thing,  for  which  he  had  paid 
a  good  price;  some  of  his  friends,  the  syco- 
phants with  which  he  loved  to  be  surrounded, 
would  have  said  that  he  had  paid  for  her  very 
dearly. 

It  was  very  unlikely,  however,  that  Tom 
Pargeter  would  return  to  Paris  before  he  was 

expected  to  do  so.     For  many  years  past  he 

72 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

had  spent  the  first  fortnight  of  each  May  at 
Newmarket;  and,  as  is  the  curious  custom  of 
his  kind,  he  seldom  varied  the  order  of  his 
rather  monotonous  pleasures. 

But  stay — Vanderlyn  suddenly  remembered 
Madame  de  Lera,  that  is  the  one  human  being 
who  had  been  in  Peggy's  confidence.  ;She 
was  a  real  and  terrible  point  of  danger — or 
rather  she  might  at  any  moment  become  so. 
It  was  with  her,  at  the  de  Lera  villa  in  the  little 
village  of  Marly-le-Roi,  that  Mrs.  Pargeter 
was,  even  now,  supposed  to  be  staying.  This 
being  so,  he,  Vanderlyn,  must  make  it  his 
business  to  see  Madame  de  Lera  at  the  first 
possible  moment.  Together  they  would  have 
to  concoct  some  kind  of  possible  story — he 
shuddered  with  repugnance  at  the  thought. 

Long  before  Peggy's  confidences  in  the 
train,  the  American  diplomatist  had  been  well 

73 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

aware  that  Adele  de  Lera  disapproved  of 
his  close  friendship  with  Mrs.  Pargeter;  and 
she  had  never  lent  herself  to  any  of  those  inno- 
cent complicities  with  which  even  good  women 
are  often  so  ready  to  help  those  of  their  friends 
who  are  most  foolish — whom  perhaps  they 
know  to  be  more  tempted — than  themselves. 

The  one  thing  of  paramount  importance,  so 
Vanderlyn  suddenly  reminded  himself,  was 
that  no  one — not  even  Madame  de  Lera — 
should  ever  know  that  he  and  Margaret  Par- 
geter had  left  Paris  that  night*  together.  How 
could  this  fact  be  best  concealed,  and  concealed 
for  ever? 

To  the  unspoken  question  came  swift  an- 
swer. It  flashed  on  the  man  lingering  on  the 
solitary  river-side  quay,  that  even  now,  to- 
night, it  was  not  too  late  for  him  to  establish 

the  most  effectual  of  alibis.    By  taking  a 

74 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

fiacre  and  bribing  the  man  to  drive  quickly 
he  could  be  back  in  his  rooms  in  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli,  dressed,  and  at  his  club,  before  mid- 
night. Fool  that  he  was  to  have  wasted  even  a 
quarter  of  an  hour! 

Vanderlyn  struck  sharply  across  the  dimly- 
lighted  thoroughfare ;  he  started  walking  down 
one  of  the  narrow  streets  which  connect  the 
river  quays  with  commercial  Paris.  A  few  mo- 
ments later,  having  picked  up  a  cab,  he  was 
driving  rapidly  westward,  down  the  broad,  still 
seething  Boulevard  du  Temple,  and,  as  he  sud- 
denly became  aware  with  a  sharp  pang  at  his 
heart,  past  the  entrance  to  the  quiet  mediseval 
square,  where,  only  four  short  days  ago,  he 
and  Peggy  walking  side  by  side,  had  held  the 
conversation  which  was  to  prove  pregnant  of 
so  much  short-lived  joy,  and  of  such  long- 
lived  pain. 

75 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Like  so  many  modern  Americans,  to  whom 
every  material  manifestation  of  wealth  has  be- 
come distasteful,  Laurence  Vanderlyn  had 
chosen  to  pitch  his  Paris  tent  on  the  top  floor 
of  one  of  those  eighteenth-century  houses 
which,  if  lacking  such  conveniences  as  electric 
light  and  lifts,  can  command  in  their  place  the 
stately  .charm  and  spaciousness  of  which  the 
modern  Parisian  architect  seems  to  have  lost 
the  secret.  His  appartement  consisted  of  a 
few  large,  airy,  low-pitched  rooms,  of  which 
the  stone  balconies  overlooked  the  Tuileries 
gardens,  while  from  a  corner  window  of  his 
sitting-room  Vanderlyn  could  obtain  what  was 
in  very  truth  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  vast 
Place  de  la  Concorde. 

Very  soon  after  his  arrival  in  Paris,  the  dip- 
lomatist had  the  good  fortune  to  come  across  a 

couple  of  French  servants,  a  husband  and  wife, 

76 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

who  exactly  suited  his  simple  and  yet  fastidious 
requirements.  They  were  honest,  thrifty,  clean, 
and  their  only  fault — that  of  chattering  to  one 
another  like  magpies — was  to  Vanderlyn  an 
agreeable  proof  that  they  led  a  life  quite  in- 
dependent of  his  own.  Never  had  he  been 
more  glad  to  know  that  this  was  so  than  to- 
night, for  they  greeted  his  return  home  with 
the  easy  indifference,  and  real  pleasure,  very 
unlike  the  surface  respect  and  ill-concealed  re- 
sentment with  which  a  master's  unexpected  ap- 
pearance would  have  been  received  by  a  couple 
of  more  cosmopolitan  servitors. 

With  nerves  strung  up  to  their  highest  ten- 
sion, forcing  himself  only  to  think  of  the  pres- 
ent, Vanderlyn  put  on  his  evening  clothes. 
It  was  still  wanting  some  minutes  to  midnight 
when  he  left  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  for  the  Boule- 
vard de  la  Madeleine.  A  few  moments  later 

77 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

he  was  at  the  door  of  the  club  where  he 
was  sure  of  finding,  even  at  this  time  of  night, 
plenty  of  friends  and  acquaintances  who  would 
be  able  to  testify,  in  the  very  unlikely  event 
of  its  being  desirable  that  they  should  do  so, 
to  the  fact  that  he  had  been  there  that  evening. 

L'Union  is  the  most  interesting,  as  it  is  in  a 
certain  sense  the  most  exclusive,  of  Paris  clubs. 
Founded  in  memory  of  the  hospitality  shown 
by  the  English  gentry  to  the  French  emigres, 
during  the  Revolution,  this,  the  most  old-fash- 
ioned of  Paris  clubs,  impales  the  Royal  arms 
of  France,  that  is,  the  old  fleur-de-lys,  with 
those  of  England. 

At  all  times  L'Union  has  been  in  a  special 
sense  a  resort  of  diplomatists,  and  Vanderlyn 
spent  there  a  great  deal  of  his  spare  time.  The 

American  was  popular  among  his  French  fel- 

78 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

low-members,  to  whom  his  excellent  French 
and  his  unobtrusive  good  breeding  made  him 
an  agreeable  companion.  There  could  have 
been  no  greater  proof  of  how  he  was  regarded 
there  than  the  fact  that,  thanks  to  his  efforts, 
Tom  Pargeter  had  been  elected  to  the  club. 
True,  the  millionaire-sportsman  did  not  often 
darken  the  threshold  of  the  stately  old  club- 
house, but  he  was  none  the  less  exceedingly 
proud  of  his  membership  of  L'Union,  for  it 
gave  him  an  added  standing  in  the  cosmopoli- 
tan world  in  which  he  had  early  elected  to 
spend  his  life.  Perhaps  it  was  fortunate  that 
he  had  so  little  use  for  a  club  where  gambling 
games  are  not  allowed  to  be  played — where,  in- 
deed, as  the  younger  members  are  apt  to  com- 
plain, dominoes  take  the  place  of  baccarat! 

The  tall  Irish  footman  whose  special  duty  it 
was  to  wait  on  the  foreign  members,  came  f or- 

79 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

ward  as  Vanderlyn  walked  into  the  hall.  "  Mr. 
Pargeter  has  been  asking  for  you,  sir;  he's  in 
the  card-room." 

Vanderlyn  felt  a  curious  sensation  sweep 
over  him.  That  which  he  had  thought  so  im- 
probable as  to  be  scarcely  worth  consideration 
had  come  to  pass.  Pargeter  had  not  gone  to 
England  that  night.  He  was  here,  in  Paris,  at 
L'Union,  asking  for  him.  In  a  few  moments 
they  would  be  face  to  face. 

As  Vanderlyn  walked  up  the  broad  stair- 
case, he  asked  himself,  with  a  feeling  of  agon- 
ising uncertainty,  whether  it  was  in  any  way 
possible  that  Peggy's  husband  had  found  out, 
even  suspected,  anything  of  their  plan.  But 
no!  Reason  told  him  that  such  a  thing  was 
quite  inconceivable.  No  compromising  word 
had  been  written  by  the  one  to  the  other,  and 

every  detail  had  been  planned  and  carried  out 

80 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

in  such  a  way  as  to  make  discovery  or  betrayal 
impossible. 

But  to-night  reason  had  very  little  to  say  to 
Laurence  Vanderlyn,  and  his  strongly  drawn 
face  set  in  hard  lines  as  he  sauntered  through 
now  fast  thinning  rooms,  for  the  habitue  of 
L'Union  generally  seeks  his  quiet  home  across 
the  Seine  about  twelve. 

As  he  returned  the  various  greetings  which 
came  to  him  from  right  and  left, — for  a  French 
club  has  about  it  none  of  the  repressive  eti- 
quette which  governs  similar  institutions  in 
England  and  America, — the  diplomatist  felt 
as  doubtless  feels  any  imaginative  man  who 
for  the  first  time  goes  under  fire;  what  he  ex- 
perienced was  not  so  much  dread  as  a  wonder 
how  he  was  likely  to  bear  himself  during  this 
now  imminent  meeting  with  Peggy's  husband. 

Suddenly  Vanderlyn  caught  sight  of  Par- 
81 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

geter,  and  that  some  moments  before  he  him- 
self was  seen  by  him.  The  millionaire  was 
standing  watching  a  game  of  whist,  and  he 
looked  as  he  generally  looked  when  at 
L'Union,  that  is,  bored  and  ill  at  ease,  but 
otherwise  much  as  usual. 

Tom  Pargeter  was  a  short  man,  and  though 
he  was  over  forty,  his  fair  hair,  fat  face,  and 
neat,  small  features  gave  him  an  almost  boyish 
look  of  youth.  He  had  one  most  unusual 
physical  peculiarity,  which  caused  him  to  be  re- 
membered by  strangers:  this  peculiarity  con- 
sisted in  the  fact  that  one  of  his  eyes  was  green 
and  the  other  blue.  His  manners  were  those 
of  a  boy,  of  a  boorish  lad,  rather  than  of  a 
man ;  his  vocabulary  was  oddly  limited,  and  yet 
he  seldom  used  the  correct  word,  for  he  de- 
lighted in  verbal  aliases. 

Seeing  Pargeter  there  before  him,  Laurence 

82 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Vanderlyn,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  learned 
what  so  many  men  and  women  learn  very  early 
in  their  lives, — what  it  is  to  be  afraid  of  a 
person,  who,  however  despicable,  is,  or  may 
become,  your  tyrant. 

Hitherto  his  relations  with  Peggy's  hus- 
band, though  nothing  to  be  proud  of,  had 
brought  with  them  nothing  of  conscious  shame. 
Nay  more,  Laurence  Vanderlyn,  in  that  long 
past  of  which  now  nothing  remained,  had  tried 
to  see  what  was  best  in  a  character  which,  if 
fashioned  meanly,  was  not  wholly  bad.  But 
now,  to-night,  he  felt  that  he  despised,  hated, 
and,  what  was  to  him,  far  worse,  feared  the 
human  being  towards  whom  he  was  advancing 
with  apparently  eager  steps. 

Suddenly  the  eyes  of  the  two  men  met,  but 
Pargeter  was  far  too  pre-occupied  with  him- 
self and  his  own  concerns  to  notice  anything 

83 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

strained  or  unusual  in  Vanderlyn's  face.  All 
he  saw  was  that  here  at  last  was  the  man  he 
wanted  to  see;  his  sulky  face  lightened,  and  he 
walked  forward  with  hand  outstretched. 

"  Hullo !  Grid,"  he  cried,  "  so  here  you  are 
at  last!  You  see  I've  not  gone?  There  came 
a  wire  from  the  boy;  he's  hurt  his  knee-cap! " 

Vanderlyn  murmured  an  exclamation  of 
concern;  as  they  met  he  had  wheeled  round, 
thus  avoiding  the  other's  hand. 

"  Nothing  much,"  went  on  Pargeter  quickly, 
"  but  of  course  Peggy  will  be  wild  to  go  to 
him,  so  I  thought  I'd  wait  and  take  her  to- 
morrow, eh!  what? " 

Side  by  side  they  began  walking  down  the 
long  reception-room.  Vanderlyn  was  telling 
himself,  with  a  feeling  of  sore,  dull  pain,  that 
this  was  the  first  time,  the  very  first  time,  that 
he  had  ever  known  Tom  Pargeter  show  a 

84 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

kindly  touch  of  consideration  for  his  wife. 
But  then  this  concerned  the  boy,  of  whom  the 
father,  in  his  careless  way,  was  fond  and 
proud ;  their  child  had  always  remained  a  link, 
if  a  slight  link,  between  Tom  and  Peggy. 

"  It  was  just  too  late  to  get  a  wire  through 
to  her,"  went  on  Pargeter,  fretfully,  "  I  mean 
to  that  God- forsaken  place  where  she's  stay- 
ing with  Madame  de  Lera;  but  I've  arranged 
for  her  to  be  wired  to  early  in  the  morning.  If 
I'd  been  half  sharp  I'd  have  sent  the  trolley 
for  her " 

"The  trolley?"  repeated  Vanderlyn,  me- 
chanically. 

"  The  motor — the  motor,  man !  But  it  never 
occurred  to  me  to  do  it  till  it  was  too  late." 

11  Would  you  like  me  to  go  out  to-morrow 
morning  and  fetch  her  back?"  asked  Vander- 
lyn slowly. 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"  I  wish  you  would!  "  cried  the  other  eagerly, 
"  then  I  should  be  sure  of  her  coming  back  in 
time  for  us  to  start  by  the  twelve-twenty  train. 
When  shall  I  send  the  trolley  for  you? " 

"  I'll  go  by  train,"  said  Vanderlyn  shortly. 
"  Madame  de  Lera's  villa  is  at  Marly-le-Roi, 
isri'it?" 

"  Yes,  haven't  you  ever  been  there? " 

Vanderlyn  looked  at  Pargeter.  "No,"  he 
said  very  deliberately,  "I  scarcely  know 
Madame  de  Lera." 

"How  odd,"  said  Pargeter  indifferently. 
"  Peggy's  always  with  her,  and  you  and  Peggy 
are  such  pals." 

"  One  doesn't  always  care  for  one's  friends' 
friends,"  said  Vanderlyn  dryly.  He  longed 
to  shake  the  other  off,  but  Pargeter  clung 
closely  to  his  side.  Each  put  on  the  hat  and 

light  coat  handed  to  him;  and,  when  once  out 

86 


THE  UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

on  the  boulevard,  Pargeter  slipped  his  hand 
confidingly  through  the  other's  arm. 

His  touch  burnt  Vanderlyn. 

"  By  the  way,  Grid,  I've  forgotten  to  tell 
you  why  I  wanted  to  see  you  to-night.  I'd 
be  so  much  obliged  if  you  would  go  down  to 
Chantilly  at  the  end  of  the  week  and  see  how 
that  new  josser's  getting  on.  You  might  drop 
me  a  line  if  everything  doesn't  seem  all  right." 

Vanderlyn  murmured  a  word  of  assent. 
This,  then,  was  the  reason  why  Pargeter  had 
come  to  L'Union  that  night, — simply  in  order 
to  ask  Vanderlyn  to  keep  an  eye  on  his  new 
trainer!  To  save  himself,  too,  the  trouble  of 
writing  a  letter,  for  Tom  Pargeter  was  one  of 
those  modern  savers — and  users — of  time  who 
prefer  to  conduct  their  correspondence  entirely 
by  telegram. 

They  were  now  close  to  the  Place  de  1'Opera. 
87 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"  Let's  go  on  to  *  The  Wash,' "  said  Pargeter 
suddenly. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  became  focussed 
on  the  long  line  of  brilliantly  lit  up  windows 
of  a  flat  overlooking  the  square.  Here  were 
the  headquarters  of  a  Paris  club,  bearing  the 
name  of  America's  first  and  greatest  Presi- 
dent, which  had  earned  for  itself  the  nickname 
of  "Monaco  Junior." 

Tom  Pargeter  was  no  gambler, — your  im- 
mensely wealthy  man  rarely  is, — but  it  gave 
him  pleasure  to  watch  the  primitive  emotions 
which  gambling  generally  brings  to  the  human 
surface,  and  so  he  spent  at  what  he  called 
"  The  Wash  "  a  good  many  of  his  idle  hours. 

"  Let's  turn  in  here  for  a  minute,"  he  said, 
eagerly,  "Florae  was  holding  the  bank 
two  hours  ago;  let's  go  and  see  if  he's  still 
at  it." 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Vanderlyn  made  a  movement  of  recoil;  he 
murmured  something  about  having  to  be  up 
early  the  next  morning,  but  Pargeter,  with  the 
easy  selfishness  which  so  often  looks  like  good- 
nature, pressed  him  to  go  in.  "  It's  quite 
early,"  he  urged  again,  and  his  companion  was 
in  no  state  of  body  or  mind  to  resist  even  the 
slight  pressure  of  another's  will. 

The  brightly  lighted  rooms  of  "Monaco 
Junior  "  were  full  of  colour,  sound,  and  move- 
ment; the  atmosphere  was  in  almost  ludicrous 
contrast  to  that  of  the  decorous  Union.  The 
evening  was  only  just  beginning,  the  rooms 
were  full,  and  Pargeter  was  greeted  with  bois- 
terous warmth;  here,  if  nowhere  else,  his  money 
made  him  king. 

He  led  the  way  to  the  card-room  which,  with 
its  crowd  of  men  surrounding  each  of  the 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

tables,  was  very  evidently  the  heart  of  the  club. 
"Do  look  at  Florae!"  he  murmured  to  Van- 
derlyn.  "  When  I  left  here  a  couple  of  hours 
ago,  he  was  winning  a  bit,  but  I  expect  he's 
losing  now.  I  always  like  to  watch  him  play 
— he's  such  a  bad  loser! " 

The  two  men  had  threaded  their  way  close 
to  the  baccarat  table,  and  now  they  formed  the 
centre  of  a  group  who  were  throwing  furtive 
glances  at  the  banker,  a  pale  lean  Frenchman 
of  the  narrow-jowled,  Spanish  type  so  often 
repeated  in  members  of  the  old  noblesse. 

The  Marquis  de  Florae  was  "  somebody," 
to  use  the  expressive  French  phrase, — a  mem- 
ber of  that  small  Parisian  circle  of  which  each 
individual  is  known  by  reputation  to  every 
provincial  bourgeois,  and  to  every  foreign 
reader  of  French  social  news. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  de  Florae  had 
90 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

set  the  fashion,  and  that  not  only  in  waistcoats 
and  walking-sticks.  He  was  a  fine  swords- 
man, and  was  even  now  in  some  request  as  sec- 
ond at  fashionable  duels.  None  knew  more 
certainly  than  he  every  punctilio  of  those  un- 
written laws  which  govern  affairs  of  honour, 
and,  had  he  been  born  to  even  a  quarter  of  the 
fortune  of  Tom  Pargeter,  his  record  would 
probably  have  remained  unstained.  Unfortu- 
nately for  him  this  had  not  been  the  case;  he 
had  soon  run  through  the  moderate  for- 
tune left  him  by  his  father,  and  he  had 
ruined  by  his  own  folly,  and  his  one  vice  of 
gambling,  any  chance  that  might  have  re- 
mained to  him  of  a  good  marriage. 

Even  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain, — loyal 
to  its  black  sheep  as  are  ever  the  aristocracies 
of  the  old  world, — Florae  was  now  looked  at 

askance;  and  in  the  world  of  the  boulevards 

91 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

strange  stories  were  told  as  to  the  expedients 
by  which  he  now  made — it  could  not  be  called 
earned — a  living.  The  playing  of  those  games 
which  can  best  be  described  as  requiring  a 
minimum  of  judgment  and  a  maximum  of 
luck  was  apparently  the  only  occupation  re- 
maining to  the  Marquis  de  Florae,  and  when 
in  funds  he  was  often  to  be  found  in  the  card- 
rooms  of  "  Monaco  Junior." 

"  He's  losing  now,"  whispered  Pargeter. 
"  I  should  think  he's  near  the  end  of  his  tether, 
eh?  Funny  how  money  goes  from  hand  to 
hand!  I  don't  suppose  Florae  knows  that  it's 
my  money  he's  chucking  away!  " 

'  Your  money? "  repeated  Vanderlyn  with 
listless  surprise,  "  d'you  mean  to  say  that 
you've  been  lending  Florae  money? "  He 
looked,  with  a  pity  in  which  there  entered  a 
vague  fellow-feeling,  at  the  mask-like  face  of 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

the  man  against  whom  the  luck  seemed  to  be 
going  so  dead. 

"  I'm  not  quite  a  fool! "  exclaimed  Pargeter, 
piqued  at  the  suggestion.  "All  the  same, 
Grid,  it  is  my  money,  or  a  little  bit  of  it  at 
any  rate!" 

An  English  acquaintance  of  the  two  men 
came  up  to  them.  "  The  French  are  a  won- 
derful people,"  he  said  rather  crossly,  "  every- 
body says  that  Florae  is  ruined, — that  he's  liv- 
ing on  ten  francs  a  day  allowed  him  by  a  kind 
grandmother — and  yet  since  I  have  been 
standing  here  he's  dropped,  at  least  so  I've 
calculated,  not  far  short  of  four  hundred 
pounds!" 

A  grin  came  over  Pargeter's  small  neat  face, 
and  lit  up  his  odd,  different-coloured  eyes. 
"'Cherchez  la  femme/"  he  observed,  affect- 
ing an  atrocious  English  accent;  and  then  he 

98 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

•repeated,  as  if  he  were  himself  the  inventor, 
the  patentee,  of  the  admirable  aphorism, 
" '  Cherchez  la  femme! *  That's  what  you  have 
got  to  do  in  the  case  of  Florae,  and  of  a  good 
many  other  Frenchmen  of  his  kind,  I  fancy!  " 
"  I'm  going  home  now,  Pargeter,"  said  Van- 
derlyn  with  sudden,  harsh  decision.  "  If  you 
really  wish  me  to  go  out  to  Marly-le-Roi  in 
one  of  your  cars  to-morrow  morning,  will  you 
please  give  orders  for  it  to  be  round  at  my 
place  at  nine  o'clock?  " 


V 

FEOM  what  seemed  an  infinite  distance, 
Vanderlyn  awoke  the  next  morning  to  hear 
the  suave  voice  of  his  servant,  Poulain,  mur- 
muring in  his  ear,  "  The  automobile  is  here  to 
take  Monsieur  for  a  drive  in  the  country.  I 
did  not  wish  to  wake  Monsieur,  but  the  chauf- 
feur declared  that  Monsieur  desired  the  auto- 
mobile to  be  here  at  nine." 

Poulain's  master  sat  up  in  bed  and  stared  at 
Poulain.  Then  suddenly  he  remembered 
everything  that  had  happened  to  him  the  even- 
ing before.  In  a  flash  he  even  lived  once  more 
the  wakeful  hours  of  the  night  which  had  had 
so  awful  a  beginning;  only  at  four  o'clock 
had  he  found  sleep. 

"  Yes? "  he  said.    Then  again,  "  Yes,  Pou- 
95 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

lain.  I  wished  to  start  at  nine  o'clock.  Say 
that  I  shall  be  down  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour." 

"  And  then,  while  Monsieur  is  dressing,  my 
wife  will  be  preparing  his  little  breakfast — 
unless,  indeed,  Monsieur  would  rather  wait, 
and  have  his  little  breakfast  in  bed? " 

"  No,"  said  Vanderlyn,  quickly,  "  I  shall  not 
have  time  to  wait  for  coffee." 

The  keen  morning  air,  the  swift  easy  mo- 
tion of  the  large  car  revived  Vanderlyn  and 
steadied  his  nerves.  He  elected  to  sit  in  front 
by  the  side  of  Pargeter's  silent  English  chauf- 
feur. At  this  early  hour  the  Paris  streets  were 
comparatively  clear,  and  a  few  moments 
brought  them  to  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne. There,  half  way  down  was  Tom  Par- 
geter's splendid  villa;  as  they  passed  it  in  a 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

flash,  Vanderlyn  averted  his  head.  To  his  mor- 
bid fancy  it  suddenly  assumed  the  aspect  of  a 
great  marble  tomb. 

The  car  swung  on  through  the  now  deserted 
Bois ;  soon  it  was  rushing  up  the  steep  countri- 
fied streets  of  St.  Cloud,  and  then,  settling 
down  to  a  high  speed,  they  found  themselves 
in  the  broad  silent  alleys  of  those  splendid 
royal  woods  which  form  so  noble  a  girdle  about 
western  Paris.  They  sped  through  sunlit 
avenues  of  fresh  green  foliage,  past  old  houses 
which  had  seen  the  splendid  pageant  of  Louis 
the  Fifteenth  and  his  Court  sweep  by  on  their 
way  to  Marly-le-Roi,  and  so  till  they  gained 
the  lofty  ridge  which  dominates  the  wide  val- 
ley of  the  Seine. 

Suddenly  the  chauffeur  turned  to  Vander- 
lyn, and  spoke  for  the  first  time:  "Would 

you  like  to  slow  down  a  bit,  sir?    Mrs.  Parge- 

97 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

ter  generally  stops  the  car  here  to  have  a  look 
at  the  view." 

"  No,"  said  Vanderlyn  hoarsely, "  we  haven't 
time  to-day;  we've  got  to  get  back  to 
Paris  in  time  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pargeter  to 
catch,  if  possible,  the  twelve-twenty  o'clock 
train." 

He  leant  back — a  feeling  of  horror  and  self- 
contempt  possessed  him.  His  life  was  now 
one  long  lie ;  even  when  speaking  to  a  servant, 
he  was  compelled  to  imply  what  he  knew  to  be 
untrue. 

They  ran  down  into  the  quaint  little  town 
which  has  scarcely  altered  since  the  days  when 
Madame  du  Barry  was  dragged  hence,  scream- 
ing and  wringing  her  hands,  to  Paris,  to 
prison,  and  to  the  guillotine  Vanderlyn's  dis- 
traught imagination  saw  something  sinister  in 

the  profound  quietude  of  the  place ;  it  was  full 

98 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

of  shuttered  villas,  for  through  the  winter  each 
village  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Paris  hiber- 
nates, those  whom  the  peasants  style  les  bour- 
geois still  regarding  country  life  as  essentially 
a  summer  pastime. 

They  now  came  to  a  high  blank  wall,  broken 
by  an  iron  gate.  ''  This  is  the  house,  sir," 
said  the  chauffeur  abruptly. 

Vanderlyn  jumped  out,  and  rang  a  primi- 
tive bell;  he  waited  some  minutes  and  then  rang 
again.  At  last  he  heard  the  sound  of  steps 
hurrying  along  a  gravel  path;  and  the  gate 
was  opened  by  an  old  woman. 

'  You  have  come  to  the  wrong  house,"  she 
said  curtly,  "  this  is  Madame  de  Lera's  villa." 
Then,  as  she  caught  sight  of  the  Pargeters' 
chauffeur,  a  more  amiable  look  stole  over  her 
wizened  face, — "  Pardon,  perhaps  Monsieur 

has  brought  a  letter  from  Madame  Pargeter? " 

99 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

She  wiped  her  hand  on  her  apron  and  held 
it  out. 

Vanderlyn  remained  silent  a  moment;  he 
knew  that  now  had  come  the  moment  for  him 
to  utter  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  to  explain 
that  he  had  thought  to  find  Mrs.  Pargeter 
here, — hut  his  soul  revolted  from  the*  lie. 

"  Yes,  I  have  come  to  see  Madame  de  Lera," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  Kindly  give  her  my 
card,  and  ask  her  if  she  will  be  good  enough 
to  receive  me?" 

The  old  woman  turned  on  her  heel;  she  led 
Vanderlyn  into  the  silent  house,  and  showed 
him  into  a  large  sitting-room  where  the  furni- 
ture was  still  swathed  in  the  rough  sheeting 
with  which  the  careful  French  housewife 
drapes  her  household  goods  when  leaving  them 
for  the  winter. 

"  I  will  light  the  fire,"  said  the  servant,  apol- 
100 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

ogetically;  "Madame  does  not  use  this  room 
when  we  are  here  alone." 

"  I  am  quite  warm,"  said  Vanderlyn  quickly. 
"  Besides,  I  shall  only  be  here  a  very  few  mo- 
ments." 

The  woman  gave  him  a  curious,  rather  sus- 
picious look,  and  went  to  find  her  mistress. 

Vanderlyn,  in  spite  of  the  words  he  had  just 
uttered,  suddenly  told  himself  that  he  felt 
cold — cold  and  dizzy.  He  moved  over  to  the 
window.  It  overhung  a  wooded  precipice,  be- 
low which  sparkled  the  Seine, — that  same  river 
into  whose  dark  depths  he  had  gazed  so  de- 
spairingly the  night  before.  Here,  looking  at 
the  sunlit  panorama  of  wood,  water,  and  sky 
spread  out  before  him,  Peggy  must  often  have 
stood.  For  the  first  time  since  the  terrible 
moment  when  he  had  watched  the  train  bear- 
ing her  dead  body  disappear  into  the  darkness, 

101 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Vanderlyn  thought  of  her  as  living;  he  seemed 
to  feel  her  soft,  warm  presence  in  this  place 
which  she  had  loved,  and  where  she  had  spent 
peaceful,  happy  hours. 

He  heard  the  door  open  and  shut,  and,  turn- 
ing round,  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
Frenchwoman  whom  he  knew  to  have  been 
Margaret  Pargeter's  devoted  friend.  Al- 
though he  was  well  aware  that  Madame  de 
Lera  had  never  liked  or  trusted  him,  he,  on  his 
side,  had  always  admired  and  appreciated  her 
serenity  and  simple  dignity  of  demeanour.  As 
she  came  forward,  clad  in  the  austere  dress  of 
a  French  widow,  he  noted  the  expression  of 
constraint,  of  surprise,  on  her  worn  face. 

"  Mr.  Vanderlyn?  "  she  said,  interrogatively; 
and,  as  she  waited  for  an  explanation  of  the 
American's  presence,  surprise  gave  way  to  a 

look  of  great  sternness  and  severity,  almost  of 

102 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

dislike.  Nay  more,  Madame  de  Lera's  atti- 
tude was  instinct  with  protest — the  protest  of 
an  honest  woman  drawn  unwillingly  into  what 
she  feels  to  be  an  atmosphere  of  untruth  and 
intrigue.  She  was  telling  herself  that  she 
owed  the  fact  of  Vanderlyn's  visit  to  some 
slight  hitch  in  the  plan  in  which  she  had  been 
persuaded  to  play  the  part  of  an  accomplice; 
she  felt  that  Margaret  Pargeter  ought  not  to 
have  subjected  her  to  am  interview  with  her 
lover. 

Vanderlyn  reddened.  He  felt  suddenly  an- 
gered. Madame  de  Lera's  manner  was  insult- 
ing, not  only  to  him,  but — but  to  Mrs.  Parge- 
ter, to  his  poor  dead  love.  Any  thought  of 
telling  Madame  de  Lera  the  truth,  or  even  part 
of  the  truth,  left  him. 

'  You  must  forgive  my  intrusion,"  he  said, 
coldly;  "  I  have  come  with  a  message  from  Mr. 

109 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Pargeter.  He  believes  his  wife  to  be  here,  and 
he  wishes  her  to  be  informed  that  her  son,  lit- 
tle Jasper,  has  had  an  accident.  When  the 
news  arrived  last  night,  it  was  too  late  to  tele- 
graph, and  so  he  asked  me  to  come  here  this 
morning  in  his  motor  in  order  to  bring  Mrs. 
Pargeter  back  to  Paris.  He  proposes  that  she 
should  accompany  him  to  England  to-day  by 
the  twelve  o'clock  train." 

^\ii  expression  of  deep  bewilderment  crossed 
Madame  de  Lera's  face.  For  the  first  time 
since  she  had  glanced  at  Vanderlyn,  she  be- 
came aware  that  she  was  in  the  presence  of  a 
man  who  was  suffering  under  some  keen  stress 
of  feeling.  She  became  oppressed  with  a  great 
misgiving.  What  did  his  presence  here  this 
morning,  his  strange  unreal  words,  signify? 
What  was  the  inward  meaning  of  this  sinister 
comedy?  It  was  of  course  clear  that  the  se- 

104 


cret  elopement  had  not  taken  place.  But  then, 
where  was  Mrs.  Pargeter? 

She  cast  a  long  searching  look  at  Laurence 
Vanderlyn.  The  American's  face  had  become 
expressionless.  He  seemed  tired,  like  a  man 
who  had  not  slept,  but  the  look  she  thought  she 
had  surprised, — that  look  telling  of  the  sup- 
pression of  deep  feeling,  of  hidden  anguish, — 
had  gone.  The  fact  that  she  did  not  know 
how  much  Vanderlyn  knew  she  knew  added 
to  Madame  de  Lera's  perplexity.  She  was 
determined  at  all  costs  not  to  betray  her 
friend. 

"  I  regret  to  inform  you,"  she  said,  quietly, 
"that  Mrs.  Pargeter  is  not  here.  It  is 
true  that  I  was  expecting  her  to  come  yester- 
day. But  she  disappointed  me — she  did  not 
come.  Does  no  one  know  where  she  is?"  She 
threw  as  great  an  emphasis  as  was  possible  in 

105 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

the  impassive  French  language  into  her  ques- 
tion. 

Vanderlyn  avoided  her  perplexed,  question- 
ing glance.  "  Since  yesterday  evening,"  he 
answered,  "all  trace  of  Margaret  Pargeter 
has  been  lost.  She  seems  to  have  left  her  house 
about  six  o'clock,  and  then  to  have  disappeared 
— utterly.  The  servants  believed,"  he  added, 
after  a  pause,  "  that  she  was  coming  straight 
to  you ;  she  had,  it  seems,  taken  some  luggage 
to  the  station  the  day  before,  and  seen  person- 
ally to  its  despatch." 

There  was  a  pause;  neither  spoke  for  some 
moments,  and  Madame  de  Lera  noticed  that 
Vanderlyn  had  not  asked  her  if  Peggy's  lug- 
gage had  arrived  at  her  house. 

"  Then,  Monsieur,  it  is  surely  clear,"  she  ex- 
claimed at  last,  "  that  there  has  been  an  acci- 
dent, a  terrible  accident  to  our  poor  friend! 

106 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

I  mean  on  her  way  to — to  the  station.  But 
doubtless  that  thought  has  also  occurred  to  you 
— if  not  to  Mr.  Pargeter — and  you  have  al- 
ready made  all  necessary  enquiries? " 

Vanderlyn,  from  being  pale,  flushed  deeply. 
"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  am  afraid  nothing  of  the 
kind  has  been  done — yet.  You  see,  Pargeter 
believes  her  to  be  here." 

The  words  "  But  you — you  knew  she  was 
not  here ! "  trembled  on  Madame  de  Lera's 
lips,  but  she  did  not  utter  them.  She  felt  as 
if  she  were  walking  amid  quicksands ;  she  told 
herself  that  there  was  far  more  danger  in  say- 
ing a  word  too  much  than  a  word  too  little. 

"  I  regret,"  she  said,  "  that  you  have  made 
a  useless  journey,  Mr.  Vanderlyn.  I  must 
request  you  to  go  back  and  tell  Mr.  Pargeter 
that  his  wife  is  not  here,  and  I  beg,  I  entreat, 

you  to  inform  the  police  that  she  is  missing  I 

107 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

For  all  we  know," — she  looked  at  him  with 
indignant  severity y — "  she  may  be  lying  ill, 
mortally  injured,  in  one  of  our  terrible  Paris 
hospitals!" 

As  he  made  no  assent  to  her  imploring 
words,  a  look  of  anger  came  into  Madame  de 
Lera's  eyes. 

"  I  will  ask  you  to  allow  me  to  return  with 
you  to  Paris,"  she  said,  quickly.  "  I  cannot 
rest  inactive  here  in  the  face  of  the  possibility, 
nay,  the  probability,  I  have  indicated,  llf 
you,  Mr.  Vanderlyn,  do  not  feel  justified 
in  making  the  enquiries  I  have  suggested,  no 
such  scruple  need  restrain  me" 

She  turned  away,  making  no  effort  to  mask 
her  displeasure,  almost  her  contempt,  for  the 
man  who  seemed  to  be  so  little  moved  by  the 
mysterious  disappearance  of  the  woman  he 
loved. 

108 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

A  few  moments  later  Madame  de  Lera  came 
back  dressed  for  the  drive.  As  they  walked 
through  into  the  hall  of  the  villa,  she  suddenly 
turned,  and  with  a  strange  gentleness  asked 
her  silent  companion  a  question,  "  Mr.  Van- 
derlyn,  you  look  very  tired;  have  you  had  any 
breakfast?" 

He  looked  at  her  without  answering,  and 
she  repeated  her  words. 

"Yes,"  said  Vanderlyn, — "that  is,  no,  I 
have  not.  I  was  up  late  last  night, — there 
was  no  time  this  morning,"  he  spoke  hurriedly, 
confusedly;  the  sudden  kindness  in  her  tone 
had  brought  scalding  tears  to  his  eyes,  and  he 
felt  a  nervous  fear  that  he  was  about  to  break 
down.  Madame  de  Lera  took  his  arm;  she 
opened  a  door  and  pushed  him  through  into 
the  kitchen,  just  now  the  one  bright,  warm, 

cheerful  room  in  the  house. 

109 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"  My  good  Catherine,"  she  said,  "  give  this 
gentleman  a  cup  of  coffee — quickly!" 

The  presence  of  the  old  servant  steadied 
Vanderlyn's  nerves;  with  a  muttered  word  of 
thanks  he  drank  what  was  put  before  him,  and 
then  they  went  out,  across  the  dewy  lawn,  to 
the  gate. 

Vanderlyn  placed  his  companion  in  the  back 
of  the  car,  and  himself  took  the  vacant  seat 
next  to  Pargeter's  phlegmatic  chauffeur,  for 
he  wished  to  remain  silent.  Madame  de  Lera's 
alteration  of  manner,  her  gentleness,  her  im- 
plied sympathy,  frightened  him.  He  would 
rather  have  endured  her  cold  air  of  protest,  of 
dislike. 

And  yet,  as  they  drove  swiftly  back  to  Paris, 
taking,  however,  rather  longer  on  the  return 
journey,  for  the  country  roads  were  now  full 

of  animation  and  movement,  Vanderlyn  felt 

no 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

himself  leaning,  as  against  a  wall,  on  Madame 
de  Lera's  strong  upright  nature.  She  might 
dislike,  disapprove,  even  despise  him, — but  in 
this  matter  they  would  be  one  in  their  desire 
to  shield  Peggy's  fair  name.  He  would  have 
given  much  to  be  able  to  still  her  evident  anx- 
iety, but  that  course  was,  so  he  felt,  forbid- 
den to  him;  he  had  no  right  to  share  with 
another  human  being  the  burden  of  his  knowl- 
edge, of  his  awful  grief.  With  a  pang  he  re- 
minded himself  that  even  Madame  de  Lera's 
state  of  suspense  was  preferable  to  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  truth. 

At  last  they  turned  into  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne, rushing  through  the  leafy  roads  at  a 
high  speed;  a  few  moments  more  would  see 
them  in  the  beautiful  avenue  where  stood,  iso- 
lated from  its  neighbours,  the  Villa  Pargeter, 

instinct  with  flamboyant  luxury  and  that  per- 

111 


faction  only  achieved  by  the  lavish  use  of 
money. 

Tom  Pargeter  had  a  supreme  contempt  for 
the  careless  way  in  which  the  French  mil- 
lionaires of  his  acquaintance  conducted  their 
lives.  He  liked  to  get  the  full  value  of  his 
money,  and  was  proud  of  boasting  to  his  inti- 
mates that  he  kept  the  people  who  worked  for 
him  up  to  the  top  mark.  So  it  was  that  the 
sanded  garden,  even  now  blazing  with  flowers, 
which  surrounded  the  square  marble  villa,  and 
separated  it  from  the  carriage  road  and  tan 
gallop,  looked  like  a  set  piece,  a  vivid  bit  of 
scene  painting,  in  the  bright  morning  sun- 
light. 

When  they  came  within  sight  of  the  wrought 
bronze  gates  of  the  villa,  Madame  de  Lera 
stood  up  in  the  car  and  leant  over  the  front. 

She    touched    Vanderlyn    on    the    shoulder. 

112 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"Then  if  we  find  that  Mr.  Pargeter  is  still 
without  any  knowledge  of  his  wife,  I  am  to 
say  that  I  know  nothing — that  I  was  expect- 
ing her  yesterday  evening,  and  that  she  never 
arrived?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "that  is,  Madame, 
what  I  expect  to  hear  you  say.  It  will  then 
be  for  Mr.  Pargeter  to  take  what  steps  he 
judges  proper." 

As  the  powerful  car  swung  through  the 
gates,  Vanderlyn  saw  that  the  front  door  was 
wide  open,  and  that  the  English  butler  was 
waiting  to  receive  them;  when  the  man  saw  that 
his  mistress  was  not  in  the  car,  a  look  of  per- 
plexity came  over  his  impassive  face. 

"Mr.  Pargeter  has  been  awaiting  you,  sir, 
for  the  last  half  hour,"  he  said,  "he  is  very 
anxious  to  catch  the  twelve  o'clock  express. 
The  luggage  has  already  gone  on  to  the  sta- 

113 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

tion.  Mr.  Pargeter  wished  the  car  to  wait, — 
but — but  is  it  to  wait,  sir?  "  he  asked,  helplessly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Vanderlyn,  shortly,  "  the  car 
had  better  wait.  Where  is  Mr.  Pargeter?" 

"  He's  not  down  yet,  sir;  he  is  breakfasting 
in  his  dressing-room.  All  the  arrangements 
were  made  last  night,  but  I  will  let  him  know 
you  have  arrived,  sir."  He  looked  doubtfully 
at  Madame  de  Lera,  too  well  trained  to  ask 
any  question,  and  yet  sufficiently  human  not 
to  be  able  to  conceal  his  astonishment  at  Mrs. 
Pargeter's  non-appearance.  Then,  preceding 
the  two  visitors  upstairs,  he  led  them  through 
the  suite  of  large  reception  rooms  into  a  small 
octagon  boudoir  which  was  habitually  used  by 
Margaret  Pargeter  as  her  sitting-room. 

There  he  left  them,  and,  standing  amid  sur- 
roundings which  all  spoke  to  them,  to  the  wo- 
man, of  her  friend,  to  the  man  of  his  love, — 

114 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

from  the  hooded  chair  where  Peggy  generally 
sat  to  the  little  writing-table  where  she  had 
written  so  many  notes  to  them  both, — Madame 
de  Lera  and  Laurence  Vanderlyn  felt  over- 
whelmed with  a  common  feeling  of  shame,  of 
guilt.  In  silence  they  waited  for  Tom  Parge- 
ter,  avoiding  each  other's  eyes ;  and  the  French- 
woman's fine  austere  face  grew  rigid — this 
was  the  first  time  in  her  long  life  that  she  had 
been  connected  with  an  intrigue.  She  felt 
humiliated,  horrified  at  the  part  she  now 
found  herself  compelled  to  play. 

In  spite  of  its  costly  luxury,  and  its  wonder- 
ful beauty  of  decoration, — an  exquisite  Nat- 
tier was  let  into  a  panel  above  the  fire-place, 
and  a  row  of  eighteenth-century  pastels  hung 
on  the  light  grey  walls, — the  octagon  apart- 
ment lacked  the  restful  charm  which  belongs  to 
many  a  shabby  little  sitting-room.  The  archi- 

115 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

tect  of  the  villa  had  sacrificed  everything  to 
the  great  reception  rooms,  and  in  the  boudoir 
were  far  too  many  doors. 

One  of  these,  which  Vanderlyn  had  never 
noticed  before,  was  now  suddenly  flung  open, 
and,  outlined  against  a  narrow  winding  stair- 
case, stood  a  figure  which  appeared  at  once 
grotesque  and  menacing  to  the  man  and 
woman  who  stood  staring  at  the  unexpected 
apparition.  It  was  Tom  Pargeter,  clad  in  a 
bright  yellow  dressing-gown,  and  holding  a 
fork  in  his  left  hand. 

"  I  say,  Peggy,  look  sharp, — there's  no  time 
to  be  lost!  I  told  Plimmer  to  pack  some  of 
your  things — not  that  there's  any  reason  why 
you  should  come  if  you  don't  want  to — for 
there's  nothing  much  the  matter  with  the  boy, 
and  he'll  probably  get  well  all  the  quicker  if 

you " 

116 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

The  speaker  suddenly  broke  short  the  quick 
sentences;  he  stared  round  the  little  room, 
and  then,  catching  sight  of  Madame  de  Lera 
who  had  been  partly  concealed  by  a  screen, 
"Damn!"  he  said,  and  turning,  scampered 
heavily  up  the  staircase,  leaving  the  door  be- 
hind him  open. 

Vanderlyn  and  his  companion  looked  at 
each  other  uncomfortably.  Madame  de  Lera 
was  not  perhaps  quite  so  shocked,  either  by 
Pargeter's  appearance  or  by  his  one  exclama- 
tion apparently  addressed  to  herself,  as  the 
punctilious  American  supposed  her  to  be.  She 
knew  no  word  of  the  English  language,  and  in 
her  heart  regarded  all  foreigners  as  barbarians. 

They  waited, — it  seemed  a  long,  long  time, 
but  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  but  a  very  few 
minutes  after  Pargeter's  abrupt  entrance 

and  exit,   when  his  short  quick  steps   were 

117 


heard  resounding  down  the  long  suite  of 
reception  rooms.  As  he  walked  into  the 
boudoir,  the  master  of  the  house — this  time 
dressed  in  a  suit  of  the  large  checks  he  gener- 
ally wore — bowed  awkwardly  to  Madame 
de  Lera,  and  then  went  over  and  shut  the  door 
giving  access  to  the  winding  staircase,  that 
which  in  his  hurry  he  had  omitted  to  close  be- 
hind him.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  he  turned 
to  Laurence  Vanderlyn. 

"Well?"   he   said,    "what's   happened   to 

Peggy?    I'm  told  sne's  n°t  nere'    Is  sne  ill-  " 
"Peggy  never  arrived  at  Marly-le-Roi," 
said  Vanderlyn. 

To  himself  his  very  voice  seemed  changed, 
his  words  charged  with  terrible  significance; 
but  to  Pargeter,  the  answer  given  to  his  ques- 
tion sounded  disagreeably  indifferent  and  mat- 
ter-of-fact. 

118 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"Never  arrived?"  he  echoed.  "Where  is 
she  then?  You  don't  mean  to  say  she's  lost? " 

"  Madame  de  Lera,"  said  Vanderlyn,  still  in 
the  same  quiet,  emotionless  voice,  "  thinks  that 
she's  met  with  an  accident," — he  looked  im- 
ploringly at  the  Frenchwoman;  surely  it  was 
time  that  she  should  come  to  his  help.  "  I  am 
telling  Mr.  Pargeter,"  he  said  to  her  in  French, 
"  that  you  fear  she  has  met  with  an  accident." 

"Yes!"  she  exclaimed,  eagerly  turning  to 
Pargeter,  "  how  can  it  be  otherwise,  Mon- 
sieur? "  She  hesitated,  looked  at  Vanderlyn, 
then  quickly  withdrew  her  eyes  from  his  face. 
His  eyes  were  full  of  agony.  She  felt  as  if 
she  had  peered  through  a  secret  window  of 
another's  soul. 

"  That  is  why  I  have  come  back  to  Paris," 
she  went  on,  addressing  Peggy's  husband,  "  for 

I  feel  that  not  a  moment  should  be  lost  in  mak- 

119 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

ing  enquiries.  There  are  certain  places  where 
they  take  those  who  meet  with  accidents  in  our 
streets — accidents,  alas!  more  and  more  fre- 
quent every  day.  Let  us  start  at  once  and 
make  enquiries." 

Tom  Pargeter  heard  her  out  with  obvious 
impatience.  But  still  his  varnish  of  good 
breeding  so  far  lasted  that  he  muttered  a  word 
or  two  of  gratitude  for  the  trouble  she  had 
taken.  Then  he  turned  to  Laurence  Vander- 
lyn. 

"  Surely  you  don't  think  anything  has  hap- 
pened to  her,  Grid?"  he  asked,  nervously. 
"  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  she  was  a  fool 
not  to  take  one  of  the  cars.  Then  we  should 
have  had  none  of  this  worry.  I've  always  said 
the  Paris  cabs  weren't  safe.  What  d'ye  think 
we  had  better  do?  We  can't  start  out  and 

make  a  round  of  all  the  hospitals — the  idea's 

120 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

absurd!"  Waiting  a  moment,  he  added  dis- 
mally, "It's  clear  I  can't  take  that  twelve- 
twenty  train." 

He  walked  over  to  one  of  the  windows,  and 
drummed  with  his  fingers  on  the  pane. 

Although  Madame  de  Lera  did  not  under- 
stand a  word  he  said,  Pargeter's  attitude  was 
eloquent  of  how  he  had  taken  the  astounding 
news,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  angry  per- 
plexity and  pain.  She  said  something  in  a  low 
voice  to  Vanderlyn ;  as  a  result  he  walked  up  to 
Pargeter  and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Tom,"  he  said,  "  I'm  afraid  something 
ought  to  be  done,  and  done  quickly.  Madame 
de  Lera  suggests  that  we  go  to  the  Prefecture 
of  Police;  every  serious  accident  is,  of  course, 
always  reported  there  at  once." 

The  other  turned — "  All  right,"  he  said,  sul- 
lenly, "  just  as  you  like !  But  I  bet  you  any- 

121 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

thing  that  after  we  have  taken  all  that  trouble, 
we  shall  come  back  to  find  Peggy,  or  news  of 
her,  here.  You  don't  know  her  as  well  as  I  do ! 
I  don't  believe  she's  had  an  accident ;  I  daresay 
you'll  laugh  at  me,  Grid,  but  all  I  can  say  is 
that  I  don't  feel  she's  had  an  accident.  Take 
my  word  for  it,  old  man,  there's  nothing  to 
be  frightened  about.  iWhy,  you  look  quite 
pale!" 

There  came  the  distant  sounci  of  a  telephone 
bell.  "There!"  he  cried,  "I  expect  that  is 
Peggy*  °r  news  of  her.  What  a  bore  it  is 
having  three  telephones  in  a  house! "  He  left 
the  room,  and  a  moment  later  they  heard  him 
shouting  to  his  butler. 

Vanderlyn  turned  to  Madame  de  Lera. 
"He  doesn't  believe  that  Mrs.  Pargeter  has 
had  an  accident,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  you  must 

not  judge  him  too  harshly."  He  added  after  a 

122 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

moment,  "  I  think  you  must  know,  Madame 
de  Lera,  that  Mrs.  Pargeter's  husband  has 
always  been  lacking  in  imagination." 

Her  only  answer  was  a  shrug  of  her  shoul- 
ders. 


193 


VI 

ONCE  a  year  the  newspapers  of  each  great 
capital  publish,  among  other  statistics,  a  record 
of  the  disappearances  which  have  occurred  in 
their  midst  during  the  preceding  twelve 
months.  These  disappearances  are  not  counted 
by  tens  or  by  hundreds,  but  by  thousands ;  and 
what  is  true  of  every  great  city  is  in  a  very 
special  sense  true  of  Paris,  the  human  Cloaca 
Maxima  of  the  world.  There,  the  sudden 
vanishing,  the  obliteration  as  it  were,  of  a  hu- 
man being — especially  of  a  foreigner — arouses 
comparatively  little  surprise  or  interest  among 
those  whose  weary  duty  it  is  to  try  and  find 
what  has  become  of  the  lost  one. 

To  Madame  de  Lera, — even  to  Tom  Parge- 

124 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

ter, — the  beginning  of  what  was  to  be  so  sin- 
gular and  perplexing  a  quest  had  about  it 
something  awe-inspiring  and  absorbing.  So 
it  was  that  during  the  few  minutes  which 
elapsed  between  their  leaving  the  Avenue  du 
Bois  de  Bologne  and  their  reaching  the  ancient 
building  where  the  Paris  Police  still  has  its 
headquarters,  not  a  word  was  spoken  by  either 
of  the  two  ill-assorted  companions  who  sat  to- 
gether in  the  rear  of  the  car,  for  Vanderlyn, 
the  only  one  of  the  three  who  knew  where  the 
Prefecture  of  Police  is  situated,  had  been 
placed  next  to  the  chauffeur  in  order  that  he 
might  direct  him  as  to  the  way  thither. 

By  such  men  as  Tom  Pargeter  and  their 
like,  the  possibility  of  material  misfortune  at- 
tacking themselves  and  those  who  form  what 
may  be  called  their  appanage,  is  never  envis- 
aged; and  therefore,  when  such  misfortune 

125 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

comes  to  them,  as  it  does  sooner  or  later  to  all 
human  beings,  the  grim  guest's  presence  is 
never  accepted  without  an  amazed  sense  of 
struggle  and  revolt. 

The  news  of  the  accident  to  his  little  son 
had  angered  Pargeter,  and  made  him  feel  ill- 
used,  but  that  it  should  have  been  followed 
by  this  mystery  concerning  his  wife's  where- 
abouts seemed  to  add  insult  to  injury.  So 
it  was  an  ill-tempered,  rather  than  an  anx- 
ious man  who  joined  Vanderlyn  on  the  worn 
steps  of  the  huge  frowning  building  wherein 
is  housed  that  which  remains  the  most  perma- 
nent and  the  most  awe-inspiring  of  Parisian 
institutions. 

As  they  passed  through  the  great  portals 
Tom  Pargeter  smiled,  for  the  first  time;  "We 
shall  soon  have  news  of  her,  Grid,"  he  mur- 
mured, confidently. 

126 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Vanderlyn  winced  as  he  nodded  a  dubious 
assent. 

But  at  first  everything  went  ill  with  them. 
Pargeter  insisted  on  sending  for  the  police 
interpreter  and  stating  his  business  in  Eng- 
lish; then,  irritated  at  the  man's  lack  of 
comprehension,  he  broke  out — to  Vanderlyn's 
surprise — into  voluble  French.  But  as  the 
two  foreigners  were  sent  from  room  to 
room  in  the  old-fashioned,  evil-smelling  build- 
ing, as  endless  forms  were  placed  before  them 
to  be  filled  up,  it  became  increasingly  clear  that 
the  disappearance  of  a  human  being,  especially 
of  an  Englishwoman,  did  not  strike  the  list- 
less employees  as  being  particularly  remark- 
able. 

The  more  angry  Pargeter  grew,  and  the 
more  violent  in  his  language,  the  more  politely, 

listlessly,  indifferent  became  those  to  whom 

127 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

he  addressed  his  questions  and  indignant  com- 
plaints. 

The  cosmopolitan  millionaire-sportsman,  ac- 
customed to  receive  a  constant  stream  of  adu- 
lation and  consideration  from  all  those  with 
whom  life  brought  him  in  contact,  was  first 
amazed,  and  then  angered,  by  the  lack  of  in- 
terest shown  in  him  and  in  his  affairs  at  the 
Prefecture  of  Police. 

Then,  to  his  surprise  and  only  half -concealed 
mortification,  a  reference  made  by  Laurence 
Vanderlyn  to  an  incident  which  had  taken 
place  the  year  before — that  is,  to  the  disap- 
pearance of  an  American  citizen — followed 
by  the  production  of  the  diplomatist's  card, 
brought  about  a  magic  change. 

Immediately  the  two  friends  were  intro- 
duced into  the  presence  of  an  important  offi- 
cial; and  a  moment  later  Tom  Pargeter's  out- 

128 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

raged  dignity  and  sense  of  importance  were 
soothed  by  an  outpouring  of  respectful  sympa- 
thy, while  in  an  incredibly  short  time  the  full 
particulars  of  every  accident  which  had  oc- 
curred in  the  streets  of  Paris  during  the  last 
twenty-four  hours  were  laid  before  the  anxious 
husband.  But  it  soon  became  clear  that  in 
none  of  these  had  Mrs.  Pargeter  been  con- 
cerned. 

The  official  left  the  room  a  moment;  then 
he  returned  with  a  colleague. 

This  man,  the  chief  of  the  detective  force, 
proceeded  with  considerable  tact  to  examine 
and  cross-examine  both  Pargeter  and  Vander- 
lyn  concerning  the  way  in  which  Mrs.  Parge- 
ter had  spent  the  earlier  part  of  the  previous 
day — that  is,  the  day  on  which  she  had  disap- 
peared. 

The   man's    manner — that    of   scenting    a 
129 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

secret,  of  suspecting  that  more  lay  behind  the 
matter  than  was  admitted  by  the  husband  and 
friend  of  the  woman  they  were  seeking — pro- 
duced a  disagreeable  impression  on  Vander- 
lyn.  For  the  first  time  he  felt  himself  faced 
by  a  vague,  but  none  the  less  real,  danger,  and 
the  feeling  braced  him. 

"  Then  Monsieur  did  not  see  this  lady  yes- 
terday at  all? " 

"No,"  said  Vanderlyn,  shortly;  "the  last 
time  I  saw  Mrs.  Pargeter  in  her  house  was  the 
day  before  yesterday,  when  I  called  on  her 
about  five  o'clock." 

"  Monsieur  is  not  related  to  the  lady,"  asked 
the  detective  quietly. 

"  No,"  said  Vanderlyn  again.  "  But  I  am 
an  old  friend  of  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pargeter, 
and  that  is  why  he  asked  me  to  accompany  him 

here  to-day." 

ISO 


THE  [UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"  Then  when  and  how  did  you  yourself  first 
learn  of  Madame  Pargeter's  disappearance?" 
asked  the  other  suddenly. 

Vanderlyn  hesitated ;  for  a  moment  his  tired 
brain  refused  to  act — when  was  he  supposed  to 
have  heard  of  Peggy's  disappearance?  He 
looked  helplessly  at  Pargeter,  then  said  sud- 
denly, "  I  met  my  friend  at  L'Union  last 
night." 

"  Then  you  already  knew  of  Madame's  dis- 
appearance last  night?"  said  the  official 
eagerly. 

"No!  no!"  exclaimed  Pargeter  crossly. 
"  Of  course  we  didn't  know  then!  We  didn't 
know  till  just  now — that  is,  till  this  morning, 
when  Mr.  Vanderlyn  went  out  to  Madame  de 
Lera's  villa  to  fetch  my  wife.  It  was  Madame 
de  Lera  who  told  us  that  she  had  never  arrived 

at  Marly-le-Roi.     She  disappeared  yesterday 

131 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

afternoon,  but  we  did  not  know  it  till  this 
morning." 

"  May  I  ask  you,  gentlemen,  to  wait  for  a 
moment  while  I  make  certain  enquiries?"  ob- 
served the  detective  politely.  "  You  have  not 
yet  been  shown  our  daily  report  concerning 
the  stations  of  Paris — is  it  not  possible  that 
Madame  Pargeter  may  have  met  with  some  ac- 
cident at  the  Gare  St.  Lazare,  if,  as  I  under- 
stand, she  was  going  to  her  friend  by  train, 
and  not  by  automobile?  " 

Pargeter  seemed  struck  by  the  notion.  He 
turned  to  Vanderlyn.  "  I  can't  make  out," 
he  said  in  a  puzzled  tone,  "why  Peggy 
thought  of  going  to  Marly-le-Roi  by  train 
when  she  might  so  easily  have  gone  in  her  new 
motor." 

"Peggy  gave  her  man  a  week's  holiday," 
said  Vanderlyn  shortly.  "You  know,  Tom, 

132 


THE  UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

that  he  wanted  to  go  to  his  own  home,  some- 
where in  Normandy." 

"  Yes,  yes.  Of  course!  But  still  she  might 
have  gone  out  in  the  big  car — I  wasn't  using 
it  yesterday." 

The  detective  came  back  at  the  end  of  what 
seemed  to  both  Vanderlyn  and  Pargeter  a  very 
long  quarter  of  an  hour. 

"  No  incident  of  any  sort  took  place  last 
night  at  the  Gare  St.  Lazare,"  he  said  briefly. 
"We  shall  now  institute  a  thorough  enquiry 
among  our  agents ;  every  police  station  in  Paris 
shall  be  notified  of  the  fact  that  Madame  Par- 
geter is  missing;  and  I  shall  almost  certainly 
be  able  to  send  you  some  kind  of  news  of  her 
by  four  o'clock  this  afternoon.  In  any  case 
you  can  trust  us  to  do  our  best.  Will 
Monsieur  be  returning  to  the  Avenue  du 
Bois" — he  addressed  Vanderlyn,  "or  is  Mon- 

138 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

sieur  going  to  his  own  flat  in  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli?" 

Vanderlyn  looked  up  quickly.  His  private 
address  was  not  printed  on  the  card  he  had 
shown;  still  it  was  reasonable  enough  that  this 
man  should  have  looked  up  his  own  as  well  as 
Pargeter's  address  and  should  have  wished  to 
verify  their  statements  as  far  as  was  pos- 
sible. 

"  Of  course,  Grid,  you  will  come  home  with 
me!"  exclaimed  Pargeter  fretfully. 

"  Then,  Messieurs,  I  will  send  any  news  I 
get  straight  to  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne." 

As  they  walked  through  the  long  corri- 
dors, it  became  clear  that  whatever  anxiety 
Pargeter  had  suffered  had  dropped  off  him, 
for  the  moment,  like  a  cloak.  "  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  if  I  can  get  off  to-night  after  all," 

134 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

he  said  cheerfully,  "  you  heard  what  he  said? 
This  afternoon  we  shall  certainly  have  news 
of  her." 

Then,  as  they  emerged  into  the  hall,  and  he 
caught  sight  of  his  motor-car  and  of  its  occu- 
pant, "  For  God's  sake,  Grid,"  he  said  frown- 
ing, "let's  get  rid  of  that  old  woman!  There 
she  sits,  staring  like  a  bird  of  prey ;  it's  enough 
to  give  one  the  hump!  Ask  her  if  she  would 
like  us  to  drive  her  to  her  Paris  house.  If 
she  wants  to  go  back  to  the  country,  I'll  send 
her  in  Peggy's  Limousine — oh!  I  forgot, 
that's  not  available,  is  it?  Never  mind,  she 
can  go  on  in  this  car.  Say  we'll  send  her  news 
as  soon  as  we  hear  any! " 

But  Vanderlyn  soon  ascertained  that 
Madame  de  Lera  had  no  wish  to  go  back  to 
Marly-le-Roi.  She  accepted  his  brief  account 
of  what  had  occurred  at  the  Prefecture  of 

135 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Police  without  comment,  and,  refusing  Parge- 
ter's  offer  to  drive  her  to  her  house  in  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain,  asked  only  to  be  set  down 
at  the  nearest  telegraph  station. 

Dreary  hours  followed — hours  later  remem- 
bered with  special  horror  and  shrinking  by 
Laurence  Vanderlyn.  They  were  spent  by  the 
two  ill-assorted  friends  in  Tom  Pargeter's 
own  room  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  villa. 

It  was  a  long,  well-lighted  room,  lined  with 
the  huge,  splendidly  decorative  posters,  signed 
Cheret  and  Mucha,  which  were  then  just  being 
collected  by  those  who  admired  that  type  of 
flamboyant  art.  In  this  apartment  Peggy,  as 
Vanderlyn  was  well  aware,  never  put  her  feet, 
for  it  was  there  that  her  husband  received  his 
trainer  and  his  sporting  friends.  Here  also 
was  his  own  private  telephone. 

136 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Lunch  was  brought  to  them  on  a  tray,  and 
at  two  o'clock  the  butler  came  with  the  in- 
formation that  several  police  officials  were  in 
the  house  interrogating  the  servants.  Far 
from  annoying  Pargeter,  the  fact  seemed  to 
afford  him  some  gratification,  for  it  proved 
that  he  was  after  all  quite  as  important  a  per- 
sonage as  he  believed  himself  to  be.  He  gave 
orders  that  the  men  were  to  be  liberally  sup- 
plied with  drink. 

An  hour  later  came  a  high  official  from  the 
Prefecture.  He  was  taken  upstairs  and  shown 
into  the  drawing-room,  and  it  was  there  that 
Pargeter  joined  him,  leaving  Vanderlyn  for 
the  first  time  alone. 

The  American  lay  back  in  the  rocking-chair 
in  which  he  had  been  sitting  forward  listening 
to  the  other's  unconnected  talk.  What  a  re- 
lief, what  an  immense  sense  of  sobbing  relief — 

1ST 


THE  UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

came  over  his  weary  senses,  aye,  even  his  weary 
limbs!  He  put  away  the  thought,  the  an- 
guished query,  as  to  how  long  this  awful  ordeal 
was  likely  to  endure.  For  the  moment  it  was 
everything  to  be  alone.  He  closed  his  smart- 
ing eyes. 

Suddenly  the  telephone  bell  rang,  violently. 
Vanderlyn  got  up  slowly;  stumblingly  he 
walked  across  the  room  and  took  up  the 
receiver.  A  woman's  voice  asked  in 
French: 

"Has  Mr.  Pargeter  left  Paris?" 

"  No,"  said  Vanderlyn  shortly.  "  Mr.  Par- 
geter is  still  in  Paris." 

"Is  it  a  friend  of  Mr.  Pargeter  who  is 
speaking?" 

There  was  a  long  pause, — then,  "  Yes,"  said 
Vanderlyn. 

"Will  you,  Monsieur,  kindly  inform  your 

138 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

friend,"  said  the  voice,  shaking  with  a  ripple 
of  light  laughter,  "that  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Tour  de  Nesle  has  something  very  urgent  to 
say  to  him? " 

"  Mr.  Pargeter  is  engaged,  but  I  will  give 
him  any  message." 

"  May  I  ask  you,  Monsieur,  to  have  the  gra- 
cious amiability  to  inform  Mr.  Pargeter  that 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour  de  Nesle  will  be  ex- 
pecting him  at  five  o'clock  this  afternoon.  She 
understood  he  was  leaving  Paris  yesterday,  but 
someone  told  her  that  he  had  been  seen  driving 
in  his  auto  on  the  grand  boulevards  this  morn- 
ing." 

A  few  moments  later  Pargeter  burst  into  the 
room. 

"  They  declare  that  Peggy  must  have  left 
Paris! "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  thought  as  much," 
he  went  on,  angrily.  "  I  felt  certain  that  she 

139 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

was  only  hiding!  Of  course  I  didn't  like  to 
say  so — at  first,"  and,  as  Vanderlyn  remained 
silent,  he  came  and  flung  himself  in  a  chair 
close  to  the  other  man. 

'  You  see,  Grid," — his  voice  unconsciously 
lowered, — "  she  played  me  that  trick  once  be- 
fore— years  ago!  It  was  a  regular  bit  of  bad 
luck,  the  sort  of  thing  that  only  seems  to  hap- 
pen to  me ;  other  men  escape.  A  woman  came 
to  our  house, — we  were  living  in  London 
then, — an  old  friend  of  mine  with  whom  I'd 
stupidly  mixed  up  again;  she  brought  a  child 
with  her,  a  squalling  brat  two  or  three  months 
older  than  Jasper — Of  course  the  child  had 
nothing  to  do  with  me,  but  she  said  he  had,  and 
Peggy  believed  her! "  he  looked  for  sympathy 
to  the  silent  man  opposite  to  whom  he  was  now 
sitting. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  this  before?"  he  asked 

140 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

suspiciously,  "  did  Peggy  ever  tell  you  about 
it?" 

"  No,"  said  Vanderlyn.  "  This  is  the  first 
time  I  have  heard  anything  of  it.  How  long 
did  she  stay  away?  "  he  forced  himself  to  add, 
loathing  himself  the  while:  "Did  she  disap- 
pear like  this — I  mean,  as  she  has  done  this 
time? " 

"Well,  not  exactly,"  said  Pargeter  reluc- 
tantly, "  for  one  thing  she  took  Jasper  and  his 
nurse  with  her,  but  not  her  maid.  They  went 
off  to  her  aunt, — the  aunt  who  brought  her  up, 
you  know, — but  for  two  days  I  hadn't  a  notion 
where  she  was!  Then  one  of  her  brothers 
came  to  see  me.  It  was  all  made  as  damned 
unpleasant  for  me  as  possible,  but  they  were 
of  course  determined  that  she  should  come  back 
to  me,  and  so  she  did — after  about  a  week. 
But  she  was  never  nice  to  me  again,"  he  added, 

141 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

moodily,  "not  that  she  ever  was  really  nice 
to  me  before  we  married.  It  was  the  aunt  who 
hunted  me " 

"Is  there  any  special  reason  why  Peggy 
should  have  thought  of  going  away  like  that 
— now?"  asked  Vanderlyn  in  a  strained 
voice. 

"  No,"  exclaimed  Pargeter, "  o'f  course  there 
isn't!  I've  always  been  nice  to  her,  as  you 
know  well,  Grid, — much  nicer,  I  mean,  than 
most  men  would  have  been  to  a  wife  who  was 
so — so — "  he  sought  intently  for  a  word,  "  so 
superior  and — and  unsympathetic.  But  lately 
I  have  been  specially  nice  to  her,  for  my  sister, 
Sophy,  you  know,  had  written  me  a  long 
screed, — I  didn't  bother  to  read  it  right 
through,  making  out  that  Peggy's  heart  was 
weak,  and  that  I  ought  to  be  very  careful  about 
her.  The  very  day  I  got  the  letter  I  went  out 

142 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

and  bought  her  that  grey  Limousine  Lady 
Prynne  was  so  keen  I  should  take  off  her 
hands!  Peggy  always  had  everything  she 
wanted,"  he  repeated;  "  I  didn't  have  a  penny 
with  her,  but  I've  never  grudged  her  anything. 
In  fact  I  should  be  pleased  if  she  spent  more 
on  her  clothes  than  she  seems  to  care  to  do, 
for  I  like  to  see  a  woman  well  trigged  out." 

"  Tom,  I  have  a  message  for  you,"  said  Van- 
derlyn  slowly,  "  a  lady  telephoned  just  now  to 
say  she's  expecting  you  at  five  o'clock." 

"Eh!  what?"  said  Pargeter,  his  fair  face 
flushing,  "  a  lady?  What  lady?  Did  she  give 
her  name?" 

"Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour  de  Nesle,"  said 
Vanderlyn,  with  curling  lip. 

"Oh  Lord!  What  a  plague  women  are!" 
said  the  other,  crossly.  "  Sometimes  I  think 

it's  a  pity  God  ever  made  Eve!    Such  impu- 

143 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

dence,  her  ringing  up  here!  Still,  she's  an 
amusing  little  devil." 

"  Are  you  going  to  see  her?  "  asked  Vander- 
lyn,  "because  if  so  I  think  I  had  better  be 
getting  back  to  my  place.  You  see,  I've  rather 
neglected  my  work  to-day." 

Something  in  the  other's  tone  impressed 
Pargeter  disagreeably. 

"I  say,  don't  be  shirty  1 "  he  exclaimed,  " I 
know  you've  had  a  lot  of  bother,  and  I'm  aw- 
fully grateful  to  you,  and  so  will  Peggy  be 
when  she  knows.  I  shan't  make  up  my  mind 
about  going  to  see  Nelly  till  the  last  min- 

" Nelly?"  repeated  Vanderlyn,  puzzled — 
"Who's  Nelly?" 

'  You  know,  Grid, — the — the  person  who 
rang  me  up.  I  always  call  her  Nelly.  Her 

name's  such   a  mouthful — still,  it's   Nelly's 

144 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Tower,  isn't  it?  See?  Perhaps  to-day  as 
there's  all  this  fuss  on  I'd  better  not  go  and 
see  her,  eh,  Grid?  I  wish  I  was  like  you,"  he 
added,  a  little  shamefacedly,  "you're  such  a 
puritan.  I  suppose  that's  why  Peggy's  so 
fond  of  you.  Birds  of  a  feather,  eh?  what? " 
his  manner  grew  sensibly  more  affectionate 
and  confidential. 

The  two  men  smoked  on  in  silence.  Vander- 
lyn  was  trying  to  choose  a  form  of  words  with 
which  he  could  bid  the  other  farewell;  he 
longed  with  a  miserable  longing  to  be  alone, 
but  that  first  day's  ordeal  was  not  yet  over. 

"  I  can't  face  dinner  here,"  said  Pargeter 
suddenly,  "  let's  go  and  dine  at  that  new  place, 
the  Coq  d'Or." 

Vanderlyn  lacked  the  energy  to  say  him  nay, 
and  they  went  out,  leaving  word  where  they 
were  to  be  found. 

145 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Le  Coq  d'Or  was  a  reconstitution  of  what 
had  been,  in  a  now  deserted  suburban  resort,  a 
famous  restaurant  dedicated  to  the  memory 
and  cult  of  Rabelais.  Vanderlyn  had  already 
been  there  with  American  friends,  but  to  Par- 
geter  the  big  room,  with  its  quaint  mediaeval 
furnishings  and  large  panels  embodying  ad- 
ventures of  Gargantua,  was  new,  and  for  a 
moment  distracted  his  mind  from  what  was 
still  more  of  a  grievance  than  an  anxiety. 

But  they  had  not  long  been  seated  at  one  of 
the  narrow  oak  tables  which  were  supposed  to 
be  exact  copies  of  those  used  in  a  mediaeval 
tavern,  when  Pargeter  began  to  turn  sulky. 
The  maitre  d'hotel  of  the  Coq  d'Or  was  not 
aware  of  how  important  a  guest  was  honouring 
him  that  night,  and  for  a  few  moments  no  at- 
tention was  paid  to  the  two  friends. 

"I  say,  this  is  no  good!"  exclaimed  Par- 

146 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

geter  angrily,  "let's  go  somewhere  else — to 
the  Cafe  de  Paris." 

"  For  God's  sake,  Tom,"  exclaimed  Van- 
derlyn  harshly,  "  sit  down!  Can't  you  see  I'm 
tired  out?  Let's  stay  where  we  are." 

"  All  right.  But  I  can  tell  you  that  at  this 
rate  we  shan't  get  anything  till  midnight ! " 
Still  Pargeter  sat  down  again,  and  fortunately 
there  soon  came  up  a  waiter  who  had  known 
the  great  sportsman  elsewhere;  and  a  moment 
later  he  was  absorbed  in  the  amusing  occupa- 
tion of  making  out  a  careful  menu  from  a 
new  bill  of  fare. 

During  the  long  course  of  the  meal,  Van- 
derlyn  listened  silently  to  Pargeter 's  conjec- 
tures concerning  Peggy's  disappearance — 
conjectures  broken  by  lamentations  over  the 
contretemps  which  had  made  it  impossible  for 

him  to  leave  Paris  that  day.    Absorbed  as  he 

147 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

was  in  himself  and  his  own  grievances,  Par- 
geter  was  yet  keenly  aware  when  his  compan- 
ion's attention  seemed  in  any  way  to  wander, 
and  at  last  there  came  a  moment  when,  leaving 
his  cup  of  black  coffee  half  full,  he  pushed  his 
chair  away  with  a  gesture  of  ill-temper. 

"  I'm  afraid,  Grid,  all  this  must  be  an  in- 
fernal bore  for  you! "  he  said;  "  after  all,  Peg- 
gy's not  your  wife — no  woman  has  the  right 
to  lead  you  such  a  dance  as  she  has  led  me  to- 
day. Let's  try  to  forget  her  for  a  bit ;  let's  go 
along  to4  The  Wash'?" 

Vanderlyn  shook  his  head;  he  felt  spent, 
worn  out.  He  muttered  that  he  had  work  to 
do,  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  turn  in. 

Each  man  paid  his  portion  of  the  bill,  and, 
as  they  went  through  the  glass  doors  giving  on 
to  the  Boulevard,  Vanderlyn  noticed  that  on 

each  side  of  the  entrance  to  the  Coq  d'Or  a 

148 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

man  was  standing,  sentinel-wise,  as  if  waiting 
for  someone  to  go  in  or  come  out. 

For  a  moment  the  two  friends  stood  on  the 
pavement. 

"Let's  take  a  fiacre,"  said  Pargeter  sud- 
denly, "  and  I'll  drive  you  to  your  place."  The 
warm  spring  weather  had  brought  out  a  num- 
ber of  open  cabs.  They  hailed  one  of  these, 
and,  as  they  did  so,  Vanderlyn  noticed  that  the 
two  men  who  had  been  standing  at  the  door  of 
the  restaurant  entered  another  just  behind 
them. 

When  at  last  he  found  himself  in  his  own 
flat,  and  at  last  alone,  Vanderlyn  stood  for 
a  few  moments  in  his  empty  sitting-room.  Ter- 
rible as  had  been  the  companioned  hours  of  the 
day,  he  now  feared  to  be  alone.  It  was  too 

early  to  go  to  bed — and  he  looked  back  with 

149 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

horror  to  the  wakeful  hours  which  had  been  his 
the  night  before.  So  standing  there  he  told 
himself  that  an  hour's  walk — he  had  not  walked 
at  all  that  day — would  quiet  his  nerves,  pre- 
pare him  for  the  next  day's  ordeal. 

As  he  made  his  way  down  the  broad  shallow 
stairs,  his  mind  seemed  to  regain  its  elasticity. 
He  realised  that  it  must  be  his  business  to  keep 
fit.  A  greater  ordeal  than  anything  which  had 
yet  befallen  him  lay  there — in  front  of  him. 
Soon,  perhaps  to-morrow,  the  Prefecture  of 
Police  would  connect  the  finding  of  a  woman's 
dead  body  in  the  train  which  had  left  Paris  for 
Orange  the  night  before,  with  Mrs.  Pargeter's 
disappearance. 

It  would  be  then  that  he  would  need  all  his 
strength  and  self-control.  He  remembered 
with  a  thrill  of  anger  the  curious  measuring 
glance  the  head  of  the  Paris  detective  force 

150 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

had  cast  on  him  that  morning.  He  wondered 
uneasily  how  far  he  had  betrayed  him- 
self. 

Passing  through  the  porte  cochere,  he  no- 
ticed that  the  concierge  was  talking  to  a  neat, 
stout  little  Frenchman  with  whose  appear- 
ance he  felt  himself  familiar.  Vanderlyn 
looked  straight  at  the  man;  yes,  this  was  un- 
doubtedly one  of  the  two  watchers  who  had 
been  standing  outside  the  door  of  the  Coq 
d'Or. 

Then  he  was  being  followed,  tracked?  The 
Paris  police  evidently  already  connected  him 
in  some  way  with  the  disappearance  of  Mrs. 
Pargeter? 

Instead  of  crossing  the  road  to  the  deserted 
pavement  which  bounds  the  gardens  of  the 
Tuileries,  the  American  turned  to  the  left,  and 
became  merged  in  the  slowly  moving  stream  of 

151 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

men  and  women  under  the  arcades  of  the  Rue 
de  Rivoli.  As  he  walked  along  he  became  con- 
scious, and  that  without  once  turning  round, 
that  his  pursuer  was  close  behind;  when  he 
walked  slowly,  the  other,  as  far  as  possible,  did 
the  same,  and  when  he  hurried  on,  he  could 
hear  the  tap-tap  dogging  his  footsteps  through 
the  crowd. 

At  last,  finding  himself  opposite  the  Hotel 
Continental,  Vanderlyn  stopped  and  deliber- 
ately read  over  the  bill  of  fare  attached  to 
the  door  of  the  restaurant.  As  he  did  so,  the 
light  of  a  large  reverbere  beat  down  on  his 
face ;  from  the  human  current  sweeping  slowly 
on  behind  him  a  man  quietly  detached  himself, 
and,  standing  for  a  moment  by  the  side  of  the 
American  diplomatist,  looked  up  into  his  face 
with  a  long  deliberate  stare. 

152 


VII 

THE  fact  that  he  was  being  watched  had  a 
curious  effect  on  Laurence  Vanderlyn.  It 
roused  in  him  the  fighting  instinct  which  he 
had  had  to  keep  in  leash  the  whole  of  that  ter- 
rible first  day  of  repression,  save  during  the 
moments  when  he  had  been  confronted  with 
the  head  of  the  detective  department  at  the 
Prefecture  of  Police. 

As  at  last  he  walked  on,  now  choosing  de- 
liberately quiet  and  solitary  streets,  the  foot- 
steps of  his  unknown  companion  echoed  loudly 
behind  him,  and  he  allowed  himself,  for  the 
first  time  since  the  night  before,  the  cruel  lux- 
ury of  recollection.  For  the  first  time,  also, 
he  forced  himself  to  face  the  knowledge  that 
any  hour  might  bring  as  unexpected  a  develop- 
ment as  had  been  the  prolonged  presence  of 

159 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Pargeter  in  Paris.  He  realised  that  he  must, 
if  possible,  be  prepared,  forearmed,  with  the 
knowledge  of  what  had  occurred  after  he  had 
left  the  darkened  railway  carriage  at  Dor- 
gival.  News  travels  slowly  in  provincial 
France,  yet,  even  so,  the  fact  that  the  dead 
body  of  a  woman  had  been  found  in  a  first- 
class  carriage  of  the  Paris  demi-rapide  must 
soon  have  become  known,  and  made  its  way 
into  the  local  press. 

Out  of  the  past  there  came  to  Vanderlyn 
the  memory  of  an  old-fashioned  reading-room 
frequented  by  him  long  years  before  when  he 
was  studying  in  Paris. 

The  place  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  by 
one  of  the  professors  at  the  Sorbonne  as  be- 
ing by  far  the  best  lending  library  on  the  left 
side  of  the  Seine;  and  there,  in  addition  to  the 
ordinary  reading-room,  was  an  inner  room, 

154 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

where,  by  paying  a  special  fee,  one  could  see 
all  the  leading  provincial  papers. 

In  some  such  sheet, — for  in  France  every 
little  town  has  its  own  newspaper, — would 
almost  certainly  appear  the  first  intimation  of 
so  sinister  and  mysterious  a  discovery  as  the 
finding  of  a  woman's  dead  body  in  the  Paris 
train. 

Vanderlyn  wondered  if  the  library — the 
Bibliotheque  Cardinal  was  its  name — still 
existed.  If  yes,  there  was  every  chance  that 
he  might  find  there  what  was  vital  to  him  to 
know,  both  in  order  to  rid  himself  of  the  ob- 
sessing vision  which  he  saw  whenever  he  shut 
his  tired  eyes,  and  also  that  he  might  be  pre- 
pared for  any  information  suddenly  forwarded 
to  Pargeter  from  the  Prefecture  of  Police. 

The  next  morning  Vanderlyn  was  scarcely 

155 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

surprised  to  see  the  man  who  had  shadowed 
him  the  night  before  lying  in  wait  for  him  be- 
fore the  house. 

The  American  measured  the  other's  weary 
face  and  stout  figure,  and  then  he  began 
quietly  walking  up  the  now  deserted  arcades 
of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli;  with  a  certain  grim 
amusement,  he  gradually  increased  his  pace, 
and  when  at  last  he  turned  into  the  great  court 
of  the  Louvre,  and  stood  for  a  moment  at  the 
base  of  the  Gambetta  Monument,  he  assured 
himself  that  he  had  out-distanced  his  pur- 
suer. 

Striding  quickly  across  the  most  historic  of 
Paris  bridges,  he  threaded  the  narrow,  tortu- 
ous thoroughfares  dear  to  every  lover  of  old 
Paris,  till  he  reached  the  Place  St.  Sulpice. 
There,  forming  one  of  the  corners  of  the 

square,  was  the  house  wherein  was  housed  the 

156 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Bibliotheque  Cardinal,  looking  exactly  as  Van- 
derlyn  remembered  its  having  looked  twenty 
years  before.  Even  the  huge  leather-bound 
books  in  the  windows  seemed  to  be  the  same 
as  in  the  days  when  the  future  American  dip- 
lomatist had  been,  if  not  a  merry-hearted,  then 
a  most  enthusiastic  student,  making  eager  ac- 
quaintance with  "  The  Quarter." 

He  walked  into  the  shop,  and  recognised, 
in  the  stout,  middle-aged  woman  sitting  there, 
the  trim  young  bourgeoise  to  whom  he  had 
often  handed  a  fifty  centime  piece  in  those 
days  which  seemed  so  distant  as  almost  to  be- 
long to  another  life. 

"  Have  you  still  a  provincial  paper  room? " 
he  asked,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  dame  du  comptoir,  suavely, 
"but  we  have  to  charge  a  franc  for  admis- 


sion." 


157 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Vanderlyn  smiled.  "  It  used  to  be  fifty  cen- 
times," he  said. 

"Ah!  Monsieur,  that  was  long  ago!  There 
are  ten  times  as  many  provincial  papers  now 
as  then!" 

He  put  the  piece  of  silver  on  the  counter. 
As  he  did  so,  he  heard  the  door  of  the  shop 
quietly  open,  and,  with  a  disagreeable  feeling 
of  surprise,  he  saw  the  man,  the  detective  he 
believed  he  had  shaken  off,  come  up  unobtru- 
sively to  where  he  was  standing. 

Vanderlyn  hesitated Then  he  re- 
minded himself  that  what  he  was  about  to  do 
belonged  to  the  part  he  had  set  himself  to 
play :  "  Well,  Madame,"  he  said,  "  I  will  go 
through  into  your  second  reading-room  and 
glance  over  the  papers;"  he  forced  himself 
to  add,  "  I  am  anxious  to  find  news  of  a  per- 

158 


son  who  has  disappeared — who  has,  I  fear,  met 
with  an  accident." 

The  detective  asked  a  question  of  the  wo- 
man; he  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  but  Vanderlyn 
heard  what  ,he  said — that  is,  whether  there 
was  any  other  way  out  of  the  two  reading-* 
rooms  except  through  the  shop.  On  the  wo- 
man's replying  in  the  negative,  he  settled  him- 
self down  and  opened  an  illustrated  paper. 

Vanderlyn  began  systematically  going 
through  the  provincial  papers  of  the  towns  at 
which  he  knew  the  train  was  to  stop  after  he 
had  left  it  at  Dorgival;  and  after  the  first  un- 
easy quarter  of  an  hour  he  forgot  the  watcher 
outside,  and  became  absorbed  in  his  task.  To 
his  mingled  disappointment  and  relief,  he 
found  nothing. 

It  was  of  course  possible  that  on  the  dis- 
159 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

covery  of  a  dead  body  in  a  Paris  train,  the 
matter  would  at  once  be  handed  over  to  the 
Paris  police;  that  would  mean,  in  this  case, 
that  a  body  so  found  would  be  conveyed  to  the 
Morgue. 

The  thought  that  this  might  be  so  made 
Vanderlyn's  heart  quail  with  anguish  and  hor- 
ror, and  yet,  if  such  a  thing  were  within  the 
bounds  of  possibility,  had  he  not  better  go  to 
the  Morgue  alone  and  now,  rather  than  later 
in  the  company  of  Tom  Pargeter? 

As  he  passed  out  of  the  reading-room  into 
the  book-shop,  and  so  into  the  square,  he  un- 
derstood for  the  first  time,  how  it  was  that  he 
had  made  so  foolish  a  mistake  concerning  the 
detective.  The  latter  at  once  entered  a  fiacre 
which  had  evidently  been  waiting  for  him,  and, 
as  Vanderlyn  plunged  into  the  labyrinth  of 

narrow  streets  leading  from  the  Place  St.  Sul- 

160 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

pice  to  Notre  Dame,  he  could  hear  the  cab 
crawling  slowly  behind  him. 

Well,  what  matter?  This  visit  to  the 
Morgue  was  also  in  the  picture — in  the  picture, 
that  is,  of  Laurence  Vanderlyn,  the  kindly 
friend  of  Tom  Pargeter,  helping  in  the  per- 
plexing, the  now  agonising,  search  for  Mrs. 
Pargeter. 

But  when  at  last  he  came  in  sight  of  the  sin- 
ister triangular  building  which  crouches,  toad- 
like,  under  the  shadow  of  the  great  Cathedral, 
Vanderlyn's  heart  failed  him  for  the  first 
time.  If  Peggy  were  indeed  lying  there  ex- 
posed to  the  careless,  morbid  glances  of  idle 
sightseers  to  whom  the  Morgue  is  one  of  the 
sights  of  Paris,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  trust 
himself  to  go  in  and  look  at  her. 

He  stood  still  for  a  few  moments,  and  then, 

as  he  was  about  to  turn  on  his  heel,  he  saw 

161 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

coming  towards  him  from  out  of  the  door  of 
the  Morgue  a  figure  which  struck  a  note  of 
tragedy  in  the  bright  morning  sunshine.  It 
was  Madame  de  Lera,  her  eyes  full  of  tears, 
her  heart  oppressed  by  the  sights  she  had  just 
seen. 

"  There  are  three  poor  people  there,"  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  two  men  and  a  woman, 
but  not,  thank  God!  our  friend.  I  wonder 
if  it  is  possible  that  we  are  mistaken — that 
there  was  no  accident,  Monsieur  Vanderlyn? 
But  then,  if  so,  where  is  she — why  has  she  not 
written  to  me?  " 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  hopeless  gesture, 
afraid  to  speak  lest  he  should  be  tempted  to 
share  with  her  his  agony  and  complicated  sus- 
pense. 

"  If  she  were  a  Catholic,"  added  Madame  de 

Lera  pitifully,  "  I  should  be  inclined  to  think 

162 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

— to  hope — that  she  had  gone  to  a  convent; 
but — but  for  her  there  was  no  such  place  of 

refuge  from  temptation "  her  voice  as 

she  uttered  the  last  word  became  almost  in- 
audible ;  more  firmly  she  added,  "  Is  it  not 
possible  that  she  may  have  gone  to  England, 
to  her  child?" 

"  No,"  said  Vanderlyn,  dully,  "  she  has  not 
done  that." 

He  took  her  to  her  door,  and  then,  as  he  had 
promised  Tom  Pargeter  to  do,  went  to  the 
Avenue  du  Bois,  there  to  spend  with  Margaret 
Pargeter's  husband  another  term  of  weary 
waiting  and  suspense. 

That  second  day,  of  which  the  closing  hours 
were  destined  to  bring  to  Laurence  Vanderlyn 
the  most  dramatic  and  dangerous  moments 

connected  with  the  whole  tragic  episode  of 

163 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Mrs.  Pargeter's  disappearance,  wore  itself 
slowly,  uneventfully  away. 

Tom  Pargeter,  alternating  between  real 
anxiety,  and  an  angry  suspicion  that  his  wife 
was  in  very  truth  only  hiding  from  him,  poured 
into  the  ears  of  this  man,  whom  he  now  re- 
garded rather  as  his  friend  than  his  wife's, 
every  theory  which  might  conceivably  account 
for  Peggy's  disappearance.  He  took  note  of 
every  suggestion  made  to  him  by  the  members 
of  the  now  intensely  excited  and  anxious 
household,  for  Margaret  Pargeter's  gentle  per- 
sonality and  thoughtful  kindness  had  endeared 
her  to  her  servants. 

When  Plimmer,  her  staid  maid,  evolved  the 
idea  that  Mrs.  Pargeter,  on  her  way  to  the  sta- 
tion, might  have  stopped  to  see  some  friend, 
and,  finding  that  friend  ill,  have  remained  to 
nurse  her, — the  suggestion  so  seized  hold  of 
Pargeter's  imagination  that  he  insisted  on 

164 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

spending  the  afternoon  in  making  a  tour  of 
his  own  and  his  wife's  acquaintances.  To  Van- 
derlyn's  anger  and  pain,  the  only  result  of 
this  action  on  his  part  was  that  Mrs.  Pargeter's 
disappearance  became  known  to  a  large  circle, 
and  that  more  than  one  of  the  evening  papers 
contained  a  garbled  reference  to  the  matter. 

Meanwhile,  or  so  Pargeter  complained,  the 
officials  of  the  Prefecture  of  Police  remained 
curiously  inactive.  They  were  quite  certain,  so 
they  told  the  anxious  husband,  of  ultimately 
solving  the  mystery,  but  it  was  doubtful  if  any 
news  could  be  procured  before  the  next  day, 
for  they  were  now  directing  their  researches 
to  the  environs  of  Paris — a  new  theory  now 
evolved  being  that  Mrs.  Pargeter,  having  hired 
a  motor  cab  to  drive  her  to  Marly-le-Roi,  had 
met  with  an  accident  or  sinister  misadventure 
on  the  way  thither. 


165 


VIII 

AT  last  the  long  day  wore  itself  out,  and 
Vanderlyn,  in  the  late  afternoon,  found  him- 
self once  more  in  his  own  rooms,  alone.  He 
only  owed  his  escape  to-night  to  the  fact  that 
two  of  Mrs.  Pargeter's  relations  had  arrived 
from  England — one  of  her  many  brothers,  and 
a  woman  cousin  who  was  fond  of  her.  They, 
of  course,  were  spending  the  evening  with 
Pargeter,  and  so  the  American  had  a  respite 
— till  to-morrow. 

Having  eaten  his  solitary  dinner  with  a  zest 
of  which  he  felt  ashamed,  he  was  now  in  his 
study  leaning  back  in  an  easy  chair,  with  a  pile 
of  unread  papers  at  his  side. 

As  he  sat  there,  in  the  quiet,  almost  shabby 

room,  which  was  so  curiously  different  from 

166 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

the  splendours  of  the  Pargeter  villa,  there 
came  over  him  a  sense  of  profound  and  not 
unpleasing  lassitude. 

He  looked  back  to  the  last  forty-eight 
hours  as  to  a  long  nightmare,  broken  by  the 
few  solitary  walks  he  had  forced  himself  to 
take.  But  for  these  brief  periods  of  self -com- 
muning, he  felt  that  his  body,  as  well  as 
his  mind,  would  and  must  have  given  way. 
Peggy's  husband  had  leant  helplessly  on  him, 
and  from  the  first  moment  he  had  been — so 
indifferent  onlookers  would  have  told  you — 
the  sympathetic,  helpful  witness  of  the  vari- 
ous phases  Tom  Pargeter  had  lived  through 
during  those  long  two  days. 

For  something  like  a  week  Vanderlyn  had 
been  living  so  apart  from  the  world  about  him 
that  he  had  known  nothing,  cared  nothing, 

about  what  had  gone  on  in  that  world.    That 

167 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

very  day  an  allusion  had  been  made  in  his 
presence  to  some  public  event  of  importance 
of  which  he  was  evidently  quite  ignorant,  and* 
the  look  of  profound  astonishment  which  had 
crossed  an  Embassy  colleague's  face,  warned 
him  that  he  could  not  go  on  as  he  had  been 
doing  without  provoking  considerable,  and 
far  from  pleasant,  comment. 

Putting  out  his  hand,  he  took  up  the  New 
York  Herald — not  the  Paris  edition,  in 
which  there  was  almost  certain  to  be  allusions 
to  that  which  he  wished  for  the  moment  to  for- 
get— but  the  old  home  paper  which  had  ar- 
rived by  that  day's  mail,  and  which  had  been 
carefully  opened  and  ironed  out  by  the  faith- 
ful Poulain. 

The  newspaper  was  a  little  over  a  week  old ; 
it  bore  the  date,  April  28.  What  had  he  been 

doing  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  April?  and  then 

168 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

with  a  rush  it  all  came  back  to  him — every- 
thing he  wished  for  the  moment  to  forget.  It 
was  on  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  the  first 
warm  spring  day  of  the  year,  that  they  had 
been  tempted,  he  and  Peggy,  to  make  their 
way  down  into  the  heart  of  Paris,  to  the  soli- 
tary Place  des  Vosges.  It  was  there,  it  was 
then,  that  they  had  together  planned  that 
which  had  brought  him  to  his  present  dreadful 
pass. 

Vanderlyn  put  the  paper  back  on  the  table, 
and  his  face  fell  forward  on  his  hands;  was 
he  fated  never  to  be  allowed  to  forget — not 
even  for  a  moment? 

It  was  with  relief  that  he  welcomed  the  in- 
terruption caused  by  the  entrance  of  his  serv- 
ant bearing  a  card  in  his  hand.  "A  gentle- 
man has  come  and  insists  on  seeing  Mon- 


sieur." 


169 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Poulain  spoke  in  a  mysterious,  significant 
tone,  one  that  jarred  on  Vanderlyn's  sensitive 
nerves.  The  disappearance  of  Mrs.  Pargeter 
had  become  an  engrossing,  a  delightful  drama, 
not  only  to  the  members  of  the  Pargeter 
household,  but  also  to  Poulain  and  his  worthy 
wife ;  and  it  had  been  one  of  the  smaller  iron- 
ical agonies  of  Vanderlyn's  position  that  he 
did  not  feel  himself  able  to  check  or  dis- 
courage their  perpetual  and  indiscreet  en- 
quiries. 

"  I  have  already  told  you,"  he  said  sternly, 
"  that  I  receive  no  one  to-night.  Even  if  Mr. 
Pargeter  himself  comes,  you  are  to  say  that  I 
am  out!" 

"I'm  afraid  Monsieur  will  have  to  receive 
this  gentleman." 

"  Poulain !  "  exclaimed  Vanderlyn  sharply. 

"  This  won't  do!    Go  at  once  and  inform  this 

170 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

gentleman,  whoever  he  may  be,  that  I  can  see 
no  one  to-night." 

"  I  did  say  so,"  observed  Poulain,  in  an  in- 
jured tone,  "  I  explained  to  him  that  you 
would  see  no  one.  I  said  you  were  out — he 
said  that  he  would  wait.  Then,  Monsieur,  not 
till  then,  he  handed  me  his  card.  If  Monsieur 
will  give  himself  the  trouble  of  looking  at  it, 
I  think  he  will  receive  the  gentleman." 

Vanderlyn  took  the  card  with  an  impatient 
movement.  He  glanced  at  it.  "  Why  did  you 
not  tell  me  at  once,"  he  said  roughly,  "  who 
this — this  person  was?  Of  course  I  must  see 
the  Prefect  of  Police." 

More  than  once,  Vanderlyn  had  had  proof 
of  the  amazing  perfection  and  grip  of  the 
great,  the  mysterious  organisation,  that  oli- 
garchy within  a  republic,  which  has  always 

played  a  paramount  role  in  every  section  of 

171 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Parisian  life.  The  American  diplomatist  had 
not  lived  in  France  all  these  years  without  un- 
consciously acquiring  an  almost  superstitious 
belief  in  the  omnipotence  of  the  French 
police. 

He  got  up  and  placed  himself  between  the 
lamp  and  the  door.  He  knew  slightly  the 
formidable  official  whose  presence  here  surely 
indicated  some  serious  development  in  what 
had  now  become  a  matter  of  urgent  mter~ 
est  to  many  quite  outside  the  Pargeter 
circle. 

The  two  or  three  moments'  delay — doubt- 
less the  zealous  Poulain  was  engaged  in 
helping  the  important  visitor  off  with  his  coat 
— were  passed  by  Vanderlyn  in  a  state  of  in- 
describable nervous  tension  and  suspense.  He 
was  glad  when  they  came  to  an  end. 

And  yet  the  Frenchman  who  came  into  Van- 
173 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

derlyn's  sitting-room,  making  a  ceremonious 
bow,  would  have  suggested  no  formidable  or 
even  striking  personality  to  the  eyes  of  the 
average  Englishman  or  American.  His  stout 
figure,  clad  in  an  ill-cut  suit  of  evening  clothes, 
recalled  rather  a  Gavarni  caricature  than  a 
dapper  modern  official,  the  more  so  that  his 
round,  fleshy  face  was  framed  in  the  carefully 
trimmed  mutton-chop  whiskers  which  remain 
a  distinguishing  mark  of  the  more  old-fash- 
ioned members  of  the  Parisian  Bar.  The  red 
button,  signifying  that  its  wearer  is  an  officer 
of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  was  exceptionally 
small  and  unobtrusive.  Vanderlyn  was  well 
aware  that  his  visitor  was  no  upstart,  owing 
promotion  to  adroit  flattery  of  the  Republican 
powers;  the  Prefect  of  Police  came  of  good 
bourgeois  stock,  and  was  son  to  a  legal  lumi- 
nary who  had  played  a  considerable  part  in 

173 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

'48.  His  manner  was  suave,  his  voice  almost 
caressing  in  its  urbanity 

"  I  have  the  honour,  have  I  not,  of  speaking 
to  Mr.  Laurence  Vanderlyn?  " 

Vanderlyn  bowed;  he  turned  and  led  the 
way  to  the  fireplace.  "  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Pre- 
fet,  Laurence  Vanderlyn  at  your  service.  I 

think  we  have  already  met,  at  the  Elysee " 

he  drew  forward  a  second  arm-chair. 

Monsieur  le  Prefet  sat  down;  and  for  the 
first  time  the  American  diplomatist  noticed 
that  his  visitor  held  a  small,  black,  battered 
portfolio  in  his  right  hand.  As  the  French- 
man laid  it  across  his  knee,  he  gave  a  scarcely 
perceptible  glance  round  the  room;  then,  at 
last,  his  gaze  concentrated  itself  on  the  table 
where  stood  the  lamp,  and  the  spread-open 
newspaper. 

;<  You  probably  divine,  Monsieur,"  said  the 
174 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Prefect,  after  a  short  pause,  "what  has 
brought  me  here  to-night.  I  have  come  to  see 
you — perhaps  I  should  say  to  consult  you — in 
connection  with  the  disappearance  of  Mrs. 
Pargeter." 

"  Yes?  "  said  Vanderlyn  interrogatively,  "  I 
am,  of  course,  quite  at  your  disposal.  I  have 
been  with  Mr.  Pargeter  all  to-day,  but  so  far 
the  mystery  remains  as  great  as  ever."  He 
stopped  abruptly,  feeling  it  wisest  not  to  speak, 
but  to  listen. 

"  That,  I  repeat,  is  why  I  have  come  here," 
said  Vanderlyn's  formidable  visitor.  He 
spoke  with  a  great  deliberateness  and  mildness 
of  manner.  "  I  cannot  help  thinking,  my  dear 
sir,  that  with  your  help  we  may  be,  or  rather  Z 
may  be,  on  the  eve  of  a  discovery." 

Vanderlyn   looked   surprised;  his   desolate 

eyes  met  the  older  man's  hesitating   glance 

175 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

quite  squarely,  but  this  time  he  remained 
silent. 

The  Prefect  went  on  speaking,  and  his  voice 
became  more  and  more  suave ;  he  was  certainly 
desirous  of  saving  in  every  way  his  host's  sus- 
ceptibilities. 

"  The  fact  that  I  have  taken  the  very  un- 
usual course  of  coming  myself  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Vanderlyn,  will  prove  to  you  the  importance 
I  attach  to  this  interview.  Indeed,  I  wish  to 
be  quite  frank  with  you " 

Vanderlyn  bent  his  head,  and  then  he 
sat  up,  listening  keenly  while  the  other  con- 
tinued  • 

"  This  is  not,  I  am  convinced,  an  ordinary 
case  of  disappearance,  and  it  is  to  us,  and 
especially  to  me,  disagreeably  complicated  by 
the  fact  that  the  lady  is  an  English  subject 

and  that  her  husband  is  a  well-known  and 

176 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

highly  thought  of  member  of  our  English 
colony.  This  makes  me  the  more  anxious  to 
avoid  " — he  hesitated,  then  firmly  uttered  the 
two  words,  "  any  scandal.  It  was  suggested  at 
the  Prefecture  to-day  that  it  would  be  well  to 
make  a  perquisition,  not  only  in  Mrs.  Par- 
geter's  own  house,  but  also  in  the  houses  of 
some  of  her  intimates.  Mr.  Pargeter,  as  you 
know,  gave  the  police  every  possible  facility. 
Nothing  was  found  in  the  Villa  Pargeter 
which  could  throw  any  light  on  Mrs.  Par- 
geter's  disappearance.  Now,  Monsieur,  be- 
fore subjecting  you  to  such  an  unpleasant  oc- 
currence, I  decided  to  approach  you  my- 
self  » 

Vanderlyn  opened  his  lips,  and  then  closed 
them  again. 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  you,  Monsieur,  one 

question,  and  I  give  you  my  word  as  an  hon- 

177 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

est  man  that  what  you  tell  me  shall  be  treated 
as  confidential.  I  ask  you  if  you  know  more 
of  this  mysterious  matter  than  you  are  ap- 
parently prepared  to  divulge?  In  a  word — 
I  beg  you  to  tell  me  where  Mrs.  Pargeter  is 
hiding  at  the  present  moment?  I  have  no  wish 
to  disturb  her  retreat,  but  I  beg  you  most  earn- 
estly to  entrust  me  with  the  secret." 

Again  the  speaker's  eyes  took  a  discreet 
journey  round  the  plain,  now  shadow-filled 
room;  his  glance  rested  on  the  book-shelves 
which  formed  so  important  a  part  of  its  deco- 
rations, lingered  doubtingly  on  a  carved  wal- 
nut chest  set  between  two  of  the  windows, 
peered  through  these  same  unshuttered  win- 
dows on  to  the  dark  stone  balconies,  then, 
baffled,  his  eyes  came  back  and  fixed  themselves 
on  the  American  diplomatist's  face. 

A  feeling  of  indescribable  relief  stole  over 
178 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Vanderlyn's  wearied  and  yet  alert  senses.  It 
was  clear  that  the  Prefect  of  Police  knew 
nothing  of  the  truth;  the  directness  of  his 
question  proved  it.  Yet,  even  so,  Vander- 
lyn  felt  that  he  must  steer  his  way  very 
warily. 

"  You  are  in  error,"  he  said  at  last,  "  for  you 
credit  me,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  with  a  knowl- 
edge I  do  not  possess." 

"  Ah! "  said  the  other  mildly,  "that  is  most 
unfortunate! " 

"May  I,  on  my  side,  put  to  you  a  question 
to  which  I  should  be  glad  of  an  honest  an- 
swer?" said  Vanderlyn  abruptly.  "Are  you 
now  engaged  in  making  a  wide-spread  en- 
quiry among  those  who  had  the  honour  of  this 
lady's  acquaintance?  " 

"  No,  Monsieur," — the  Prefect's  manner 
showed  an  eager  desire  to  be  quite  frank, — 

179 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"  I  am  confining  my  personal  enquiries  to  only 
two  persons;  that  is,  to  a  certain  Madame  de 
Lera,  to  whom  you  will  remember  Mrs.  Par- 
geter  was  about  to  pay  a  visit  at  the  moment 
she  disappeared,  and  to  yourself." 

Vanderlyn  made  a  sudden  nervous  move- 
ment, but  he  checked  the  words  which  rose  to 
his  lips,  for  the  Prefect  was  again  speaking, 
and  this  time  with  a  certain  excitement  of 
manner. 

"  I  am  convinced  that  Mrs.  Pargeter  never 
intended  to  go  to  Madame  de  Lera,  and  that 
the  proposed  visit  was  a  blind!  The  facts 
speak  for  themselves.  Madame  de  Lera  had 
taken  only  one  servant  to  the  country,  and 
this  servant,  an  old  woman  whom  she  has  had 
with  her  many  years,  and  whom  she  can  en- 
tirely trust,  had  no  idea  that  her  mistress  was 
expecting  a  visitor!  I  repeat — that  no  prepa- 

180 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

rations  for  Mrs.  Pargeter's  arrival  had  been 
made  at  Marly-le-Roi.  It  is  my  belief — nay, 
my  conviction — that  Madame  de  Lera  knows 
perfectly  well  where  her  friend  is  now  con- 
cealed." 

It  was  then  that  Vanderlyn  committed  what 
was  perhaps  the  only  mistake  he  was  destined 
to  commit  during  this  difficult  interview. 
"  Has  Madame  de  Lera  made  any  such  ad- 
mission?" he  asked  quickly. 

"  No,"  answered  the  Prefect,  looking  at  him 
thoughtfully,  "  Madame  de  Lera  has  made  no 
admission;  but  then  I  have  learned,  through 
long  experience,  never  to  believe,  where  there 
is  a  friend  in  the  case,  what  a  lady  tells  me. 
Women  of  the  world,  my  dear  sir,  are  more 
loyal  the  one  to  the  other  than  we  men  may 
choose  to  believe ! " 

"And  men,  Monsieur?    Are  they  more  dis- 

181 


THE    UTTERMOST    FARTHIXG 

loyal?"  Yanderlyn  spoke  quietly,  indiffer- 
ently, as  if  tiie  question  was  of  no  moment. 

"Men,**  said  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  dryly, 
"  are  as  a  rule  quite  as  loyal,  especially  where 
they  fed  their  honour  is  n^gagrJ  But  with  a 
man  it  is  possible  to  reason;  a  woman,  espe- 
cially a  good  woman,  follows  the  dictates  of 
instinct,  —  in  other  words,  of  her  heart," 

"I  notice,  Monsieur  k  Prefet,  that  you 
efimmate  the  possibility  of  material  accident 
having  occurred  to  Mrs.  Pargeter?  " 

"  Let  us  distinguish!  "  f  M  !•!•••  J  the  older 
man  quickly.  "If,  by  accident,  you  mean, 
Mr.  Yanderlyn,  the  type  of  mishap  which 
might  hare  occurred  to  this  lady  when  she 
was  irilrinjr  or  drirrag  in  our  Paris  rfrertm, 
then  I  certainry  eliminate  the  possihflity  of 

Wltfahl  six  hoUTS  of 


such  a  thing  baring  occurred  the  facts  would 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

have  been  laid  before  me,  and,  as  you  know, 
two  nights  and  two  days  have  elapsed  since 
her  disappearance.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
envisage  the  possibility  of  suicide,  then  are 
opened  up  a  new  series  of  possibilities." 

The  Prefect  gave  a  piercing  look  at  the 
American's  worn  and  sorrow-laden  face,  but 
he  did  not  find  written  there  any  involuntary 
answer  to  his  mute  interrogation. 

"Some  years  ago,"  went  on  the  great  of- 
ficial, "  a  man  well  known  in  Paris  society 
made  up  his  mind  to  take  his  own  life.  He 
hired  a  cellar,  locked  the  door,  and  then  shot 
himself.  Months  went  by  before  his  disap- 
pearance was  accounted  for,  and  then  the  body 
was  only  discovered  by  an  accident.  If  Mrs. 
Pargeter  has  committed  suicide,  and  if  she, 
an  intelligent  woman,  was  determined  that  the 
fact  should  never  be  found  out  by  her  friends, 

183 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

then  I  admit  our  task  becomes  a  very  difficult 
one!  But  I  do  not  believe,"  he  continued, 
after  a  short  silence,  "that  Mrs.  Pargeter  did 
this.  I  believe  she  is  alive,  and  well.  She  was, 
by  each  account  that  has  reached  me,  young, 
charming,  and  wealthy.  She  had  a  child  whom 
she  apparently  adored.  As  for  her  relations 

with  her  husband "  the  Prefect  shrugged 

his  shoulders,  and  again  looked  searchingly  at 
Vanderlyn. 

"  Mr.  Thomas  Pargeter,"  he  went  on,  smil- 
ing, "is  not  perhaps  the  perfect  husband  of 
whom  every  young  girl  dreams;  but  then  no 
one  is  so  foolish  as  to  search  for  the  perfect 
husband  in  the  world  to  which  your  friend  be- 
longs !  He  is  not  exactly  a  viveurf — but  he  is, 
to  use  the  slang  of  the  day,  essentially  a 
jouisseur.  Is  not  that  so?"  He  added,  with 
a  rather  twisted  grin,  "  If  every  lady  whose 

184 


THE    UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

husband  lives  to  enjoy  himself  were  to  com- 
mit suicide,  there  would  be  very  few  women 
left  in  our  Paris  world." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  Monsieur  le  Pref et,  in 
thinking  Mrs.  Pargeter  was  the  last  woman 
in  the  world  to  commit  suicide,"  said  Vander- 
lyn  brusquely,  and  then  he  got  up. 

There  had  come  over  him  during  the  last 
few  moments  an  inexplicable,  instinctive  feel- 
ing of  dread, — that  panting  fear  which  besets 
the  hunted  creature.  He  was  determined  to 
bring  to  an  end  the  interview.  But  the  Pre- 
fect of  Police  had  no  intention  of  being  dis- 
posed of  so  easily.  He  remained  sitting  where 
he  was;  and,  placing  his  two  fat  hands  firmly 
on  his  knees,  sat  looking  at  the  American's 
tall  figure.  Slowly  his  eyes  travelled  up  till 
they  rested  on  his  host's  haggard  face. 

;<  Then  I  am  to  understand,  Mr.  Vander- 

185 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

lyn,  that  you  are  not  in  a  position  to  give  me 
any  help?  That  is  your  last  word? " 

Vanderlyn  suddenly  determined  to  carry 
the  war  into  the  enemy's  country. 

"  I  can  only  repeat,"  he  said,  harshly,  "  what 
I  said  before,  Monsieur  le  Prefet — namely, 
that  you  credit  me  with  a  knowledge  which  I 
do  not  possess.  Further,  that  while,  of  course, 
I  appreciate  the  kindly  motive  which  has  in- 
spired your  visit,  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  re- 
sent the  suspicions  which  that  visit  indicates, 
I  do  not  say  on  your  part,  but  on  that  of  your 
subordinates.  I  will  not  disguise  from  you 
my  knowledge  that  for  the  last  two  days  every 
step  I  have  taken  has  been  dogged;  I  suspect 
also,  but  of  that  I  have  no  proof,  that  my 
servants,  and  the  concierge  of  this  house,  have 
been  questioned  as  to  my  movements,  as  to  my 
daily  life.  I  cannot  help  also  suspecting — 

186 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

perhaps  in  this  I  am  wrong — that  the  police 
are  inclined  to  believe  that  Mrs.  Pargeter — a 
woman,  let  me  remind  you,  Monsieur  le  Pre- 
f  et,  of  the  highest  and  most  unspotted  char- 
acter— is  hiding  here,  in  my  chambers! 
You  speak  of  having  saved  me  from  a  per- 
quisition,— a  perquisition  in  the  rooms  of  a 
diplomatist  is  a  serious  matter,  Monsieur  le 
Prefet,  and  I  tell  you  quite  frankly  that  I 
should  have  resisted  such  an  outrage  in  every 
way  in  my  power  1  But  now,  in  the  present 
very  peculiar  circumstances,  I  request, — nay,  I 
demand, — that  you  should  search  my  rooms. 
Every  possible  facility  shall  be  afforded  you." 
Vanderlyn's  voice  was  shaking  with  undis- 
guised anger, — aye,  and  disgust. 

The    Prefect    of    Police    rose    from    his 
chair. 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  subject  you  to  any  indig- 
187 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

nity,"  he  said  earnestly,  "I  absolutely  accept 
your  assurance  that  Mrs.  Pargeter  is  not 
in  hiding  here.  I  am  aware,  Mr.  Vanderlyn, 
that  Americans  do  not  lie," — an  ironic  smile 
wavered  for  a  moment  over  his  large  mouth. 

Vanderlyn's  face  remained  impassive. 
"You,  on  your  side,  must  forgive  my  heat," 
he  said,  quietly.  Then  he  suddenly  determined 
to  play  for  a  high  stake.  "  May  I  ask  you  to 
satisfy  my  curiosity  on  one  point?  What; 
made  you  first  suspect  such  a  thing?  What 
led  you  to — to  suppose " 

" That  you  knew  where  this  lady  was; 

that  she  might — say,  after  a  little  misunder- 
standing with  her  husband — have  taken  refuge 
with  you?  Well,  yes,  Mr.  Vanderlyn,  I  ad- 
mit that  you  have  a  right  to  ask  me  this,  and 
it  was  because  I  feared  you  might  lack  the 
exquisite  courtesy  you  have  shown  me,  that  I 

188 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

brought  with  me  to-night  a  document  which 
contains,  in  what  I  trust  you  will  consider  a 
discreet  form,  an  answer  to  your  delicate 
question." 

Vanderlyn's  visitor  again  sat  down;  he  laid 
open  on  his  knee  the  leather  portfolio,  and  out 
of  it  he  took  a  large  sheet  of  foolscap,  which, 
unfolding,  he  handed  to  Laurence  Vanderlyn. 

"  This,  Monsieur,  is  your  dossier.  If  you  can 
prove  to  me  that  it  is  incorrect  in  any  particu- 
lar, I  will  see  that  the  error  is  rectified.  We 
naturally  take  special  care  in  compiling  the 
dossiers  of  foreign  diplomatists,  for  experi- 
ence has  shown  that  these  often  become  of 
great  value,  even  after  the  gentlemen  in 
question  have  left  Paris  for  some  other 
capital." 

Vanderlyn  reddened.    He  glanced  over  the 

odd-looking    document   with    eager,    curious 

189 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

eyes.  A  few  words  here  and  there  were 
printed,  but  the  rest  of  the  dossier  was  written 
in  the  round  copying  character  which  must  be 
mastered  by  every  French  Government  clerk 
hoping  for  promotion. 

First  came  the  American  diplomatist's 
Christian  name  and  surname,  his  place  of  birth, 
his  probable  age — right  within  two  years, — a 
short  epitome  of  his  diplomatic  career,  a  guess 
at  his  income,  this  item  considerably  under  the 
right  figure,  and  evidently  based  on  his  quiet 
way  of  living. 

Then,  under  a  printed  heading  "  General 
Remarks,"  were  written  a  few  phrases  in  a 
handwriting  very  different  from  the  rest — 
that  is,  in  the  small  clear  caligraphy  of  an 
educated  Frenchman.  Staring  down  at  these, 
Vanderlyn  felt  shaken  with  anger  and  disgust, 

for  these  "  General  Remarks  "  concerned  that 

190 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

part  of  his  private  life  which  every  man  be- 
lieves to  be  hidden  from  his  fellows: — 

"Peu  d'intimites  d'hommes.  Pas  de  fem- 
mes:  par  contre,  une  amitie  amoureuse  tres 
suivie  avec  Madame  (Marguerite)  Pargeter. 
Voir  dossier  Pargeter  (Thomas)." 

Amitie  amoureuse?  Friendship  akin  to 
love?  The  English  language,  so  rich  in  syno- 
nyms, owns  no  exact  equivalent  for  this 
French  phrase,  expressive  though  it  be  of  a 
phase  of  human  emotion  as  old  as  human  na- 
ture itself. 

Vanderlyn  looked  up.  His  eyes  met 
squarely  those  of  the  other  man. 

"  Your  staff,"  he  said,  very  quietly,  "  have 
served  you  well,  Monsieur;  my  dossier  is,  on 
the  whole,  extraordinarily  correct.  There  is 
but  one  word  which  I  would  have  altered,  and 

which,  indeed,  I  venture  to  beg  you  to  correct 

191 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

without  loss  of  time.  The  young  man — he  is 
evidently  a  young  man — who  wrote  the  sum- 
mary to  which  you  have  drawn  my  attention, 
must  have  literary  tastes,  otherwise  there  is 
one  word  in  this  document  which  would  not  be 
there."  Vanderlyn  put  his  finger  down 
firmly  on  the  word  "  amoureuse."  "  My  re- 
lations with  Mrs.  Pargeter  were,  it  is  true, 
those  of  close  friendship,  but  I  must  ask  you 
to  accept  my  assurance,  Monsieur  le  Prefet, 
that  they  were  not  what  the  writer  of  this 
passage  evidently  believed  them  to  have 
been." 

"  I  will  make  a  note  of  the  correction,"  said 
the  Prefect,  gravely,  "and  I  must  offer  you 
my  very  sincere  excuses  for  having  troubled 
you  to-night." 

As  Vanderlyn's  late  visitor  drove  home  that 

night,  he  said  to  himself,  indeed  he  said  aloud 

192 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

to  the  walls  of  the  shabby  little  carriage  which 
had  heard  so  many  important  secrets,  "  He 
knows  whatever  there  is  to  be  known — but, 
then,  what  is  it  that  is  to  be  known?  Of  what 
mystery  am  I  now  seeking  the  solution? " 


198 


* 

IX 

As  he  heard  the  door  shut  on  the  Prefect 
of  Police,  Vanderlyn  felt  his  nerve  give  way. 
There  had  come  a  moment  during  the  con- 
versation, when,  as  if  urged  by  some  malignant 
power  outside  himself,  he  had  felt  a  sudden 
craving  to  take  the  old  official  into  his  confi- 
dence, and  tell  him  the  whole  truth — so  mag- 
netic were  the  personality,  the  compelling 
will,  of  the  man  who  had  just  left  him. 

He  walked  over  to  the  corner  window  of  his 
sitting-room,  and  stepped  on  to  the  stone  bal- 
cony which  overlooked  the  twinkling  lights  of 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde. 

Then,  flung  out,  merged  in  the  deep  roar 
below,  there  broke  from  Laurence  Vanderlyn 
a  bitter  cry;  the  keen  night  air  had  brought 

194 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

with  it  a  sudden  memory  of  that  moment  when 
he  had  opened  the  railway  carriage  door  and 
stepped  out  into  the  rushing  wind  .  .  . 
He  asked  himself  why  he  had  not  followed  his 
first  impulse,  why  he  had  not  allowed  himself 
to  die,  with  Peggy  in  his  arms?  Why,  above 
all,  had  he  undertaken  a  task  which  it  was 
becoming  beyond  his  strength  to  carry 
through? 

So  wondering,  so  questioning,  he  leaned  over 
the  balustrade  dangerously  far;  then  he  drew 
quickly  back,  and  placing  his  hands  on  the 
parapet,  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  holding  at 
bay  an  invisible,  yet  to  himself  most  tangible, 
enemy. 

With  a  sigh  which  was  a  groan,  he  walked 
back  into  the  room.  He  had  never  yet  failed 
Peggy;  he  would  not  fail  her  now 

Vanderlyn  sat  down;  he  was  determined  not 
195 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

to  be  beaten  by  his  nerves.  He  took  up  the 
New  York  Herald;  but  a  moment  later  he  had 
laid  the  paper  down  again  on  the  table.  What 
had  been  going  on  in  America  a  week  ago 
could  not  compel  his  attention.  He  took 
another  paper  off  the  table ;  it  was  the  London 
Daily  Telegraph,  of  which  one  of  the  most 
successful  features  for  many  years  has  been 
a  column  entitled  "  Paris  Day  by  Day," — an 
olla  podrida  of  news,  grave  and  gay,  domestic 
and  sensational,  put  together  with  infinite  art, 
and  a  full  understanding  of  what  is  likely  to 
appeal  to  the  British  middle-class  reader. 
There,  as  Vanderlyn  knew  well,  was  certain  to 
be  some  reference  to  the  disappearance  of 
Mrs.  Pargeter. 

Yes — here  it  was ! 

"  No  trace  of  Mrs.  Pargeter,  the  wife  of 

the  well-known  sportsman  and  owner  of  Ab- 

196 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

sinthe,  has  yet  been  found;  but  the  lady's  re- 
lations think  it  possible  that  she  went  unex- 
pectedly to  stay  with  some  friends,  and  that 
the  letter  informing  her  household  of  her 
whereabouts  has  miscarried." 

The  Paris  correspondent  of  the  great  Lon- 
don newspaper  had  proved  himself  very  dis- 
creet. 

Vanderlyn's  eyes  glanced  idly  down  the 
long  column  of  paragraphs  which  make  up 
"  Paris  Day  by  Day."  Again  he  remembered 
the  look  of  deep  astonishment  which  had 
crossed  a  colleague's  face  at  his  ignorance  of 
some  new  sensation  of  which  at  that  moment 
all  Paris  was  apparently  talking.  So  it  was 
that  he  applied  himself  to  read  the  trifling 
items  of  news  with  some  care,  for  here  would 
be  found  everything  likely  to  keep  him  in 

touch  with  the  gossip  of  the  day. 

197 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

At  last  he  came  to  the  final  paragraph — 
'Yet  another  railway  mystery!  The  dead 
body  of  a  woman  has  been  found  in  a  first- 
class  compartment  in  a  train  which  left  Paris 
at  7  p.  m.  last  Wednesday.  As  the  discovery 
was  not  made  till  the  train  reached  Orange, 
it  is,  of  course,  impossible  to  know  where  the 
unfortunate  woman,  who,  by  her  dress,  be- 
longed to  the  leisured  class,  entered  the  train. 
Her  hand  baggage  had  disappeared,  no  doubt 
stolen  at  some  intervening  station  by  someone 
who,  having  made  the  gruesome  discovery, 
thought  it  wise  to  make  himself  scarce.  The 
police  do  not,  however,  consider  that  they  are 
in  the  presence  of  a  crime.  Dr.  Fortoul,  the 
well-known  physician  of  Orange,  has  satis- 
fied himself  that  the  lady  died  of  heart  dis- 
ease." 

Vanderlyn  went  on  staring  down    at   the 
198 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

printed  words.  They  seemed  to  make  more 
true,  more  inevitable,  the  fact  of  Margaret 
Pargeter's  death,  and  of  his  own  awful 
loss. 

But  with  the  agony  of  this  thought  came  in- 
finite relief,  for  this,  or  so  he  thought,  meant 
that  his  own  personal  ordeal  was  at  last  draw- 
ing to  a  close.  The  fact  of  so  strange  and  un- 
wonted an  occurrence  as  the  finding  of  a  wo- 
man's dead  body  in  a  train,  would  surely  be  at 
once  connected  by  the  trained  intellects  of  the 
Paris  Police  with  the  disappearance  of  Mrs. 
Pargeter. 

He  let  the  paper  fall  to  the  ground  and  be- 
gan to  think  intently.  When  that  came  to 
pass,  as  it  certainly  must  do  within  the  next 
few  hours,  it  would  become  his  grim  business 
to  persuade  Tom  Pargeter  that  the  clue  was 

one  worth  following.    The  mystery  solved,  the 

199 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

question  of  how  Margaret  Pargeter  came  to 
be  travelling  in  the  demi-rapide  would  be  com- 
paratively unimportant — at  any  rate  not  a 
point  which  such  a  man  as  Tom  Pargeter 
would  give  himself  much  trouble  to  clear  up. 

Then  with  some  uneasiness  he  remembered 
that  before  such  an  item  of  news  could  have 
found  its  way  into  an  English  newspaper,  the 
fact  must  have  been  known  to  the  French  po- 
lice for  at  least  twelve  hours.  If  that  were  so, 
their  acumen  was  not  as  great  as  that  with 
which  Vanderlyn  credited  them. 

But  stay!  The  Prefect  of  Police  was  con- 
vinced that  Mrs.  Pargeter  was  alive,  and  that 
he,  Vanderlyn,  knew  her  whereabouts;  it  was 
not  for  Peggy  dead,  but  for  Peggy  living, 
that  they  were  still  searching  so  eagerly. 

He    opened    the    Figaro    and    the    Petit 

Journal,  and  ran  a  shaking  finger  down  the 

200 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

columns;  there,  in  each  paper,  hidden  away 
among  unimportant  items,  and  told  more 
briefly  and  in  much  balder  language,  he  at  last 
found  the  story  of  the  discovery  which  the 
Daily  Telegraph  had  served  up  as  a  tit-bit 
to  thrill  the  readers  of  its  Paris  news  columns. 
Vanderlyn  made  up  his  mind  to  spend  the 
whole  of  the  next  day  with  Pargeter;  he  must 
be  at  the  villa,  ready  to  put  in  his  word  of  ad- 
vice,— even,  if  need  be,  of  suggestion, — when 
the  moment  came  for  him  to  do  so. 

For  the  first  time  for  many  nights  Vander- 
lyn's  sleep  was  unbroken;  and  early  the  next 
morning  he  made  his  way  to  the  Avenue  du 
Bois  de  Boulogne. 

As  he  walked  through  the  hall  of  the  villa, 
already  peopled  with  a  score  of  the  Pargeters* 
acquaintances,  eager  to  show  their  sympathy 

201 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

with  the  wealthy  sportsman  in  this  most 
untoward  and  extraordinary  occurrence,  the 
American  was  obliged  to  shake  hands  with 
many  men  whom  he  had  hitherto  only  known 
by  sight,  and  to  answer  questions  some  of 
which  impressed  him  as  strangely  indiscreet. 
More  than  one  of  those  with  whom  he  found 
himself  thus  face  to  face  looked  at  him  with 
cruel,  inquisitive  eyes,  and  a  scarcely  veiled 
curiosity,  for  it  was  of  course  well  known  that 
Laurence  Vanderlyn  had  been  an  intimate, 
not  only  of  the  husband,  but  also  of  the  wife. 
At  last  Pargeter's  valet  threaded  his  way  up 
to  him:  "Will  you  please  come  upstairs,  sir? 
Mr.  Pargeter  told  me  to  say  that  he  would  be 
glad  if  you  would  go  to  his  dressing-room  as 
soon  as  you  arrived." 

"  There's  no  news,  Grid, — no  news  at  all ! 

202 


THE  UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

It's  getting  awful,  isn't  it? — quite  beyond  a 
joke!  You  know  what  I  mean — I'm  sick  of 
answering  stupid  questions.  I  was  waked  this 
morning  at  seven — had  to  see  a  man  in  bed! 
They  don't  seem  to  understand  that  I  can  tell 
them  nothing  beyond  the  bare  fact  that  she's 
vanished;  they  actually  sent  two  women  here 
last  night " 

"  Two  women? "  echoed  Vanderlyn.  "  What 
sort  of  women? " 

"  Ugly  old  hags,"  said  Pargeter,  briefly, 
"  from  the  Prefecture  of  Police.  They 
brought  an  impudent  letter  asking  me  to  allow 
them  to  turn  out  Peggy's  room  and  look 

over  all  her  things!  But  I  refused "  he 

looked  at  his  friend  for  sympathy — and 
found  it. 

"  You  were  quite  right,"  said  Vanderlyn 
quickly.  His  face  became  rigid  with  anger  and 

203 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

disgust.  "  Quite  right,  Tom!  Whatever  made 
them  think  of  suggesting  such  a  thing? 
Where  would  be  the  use  of  it? 

"  Oh!  well,  of  course  they  had  a  reason.  The 
police  are  particularly  keen  that  we  should  look 
over  any  old  letters  of  hers;  they  think  that 
we  might  find  some  kind  of  clue.  But  I  don't 
believe  she  kept  her  letters — why  should  she? 
I  don't  keep  mine.  However,  I've  promised 
to  do  the  job  myself "  he  looked  uncer- 
tainly at  Vanderlyn.  "Would  you  mind, 
Grid,  coming  with  me  into  Peggy's  room?  Of 
course  Plimmer,  that's  her  maid,  you  know, 
will  help  us.  She  knows  where  Peggy  keeps 
all  her  things." 

"  Why  not  ask  Madame  de  Lera  to  do  it? " 
said  Vanderlyn,  in  a  low  voice. 

He  turned  away  and  stared  at  a  sporting 
print  which  hung  just  on  the  level  of  his  eyes. 

204 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Had  he  ever  written  imprudent  letters  to 
Peggy?  Not  lately,  but  in  the  early  days, — in 
that  brief  time  of  uncertain  ecstasy,  and,  on  his 
part,  of  passionate  expression,  which  had  pre- 
ceded their  long  successful  pretence  at  friend- 
ship? He  himself  had  preserved  later  letters 
of  hers — not  love  letters  assuredly,  but  letters 
which  proved  clearly  enough  the  strange  close- 
ness of  their  intimacy. 

But  what  was  this  that  Pargeter  was  saying? 
"  Madame  de  Lera?  Why  should  I  ask  her  to 
interfere?  I  don't  want  to  mix  her  up  in  this 
business  more  than  I  can  help!  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  her — and  that  ridiculous  invitation  of 
hers,  Peggy  would  be  here  now!  Peggy 
wouldn't  mind  your  looking  over  her  things, 
Grid.  She's  really  fond  of  you — as  fond  of 
you  as  she  can  be  of  anyone,  that  is." 

He  got  up,  and,  preceding  Vanderlyn  down 

205 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

a  connecting  passage,  flung  open  the  door  giv- 
ing access  to  a  spacious  airy  bedchamber  of 
which  the  pale  mauve  and  grey  furnishings 
reminded  both  men  of  Peggy's  favourite 
flower  and  scent.  The  sun-blinds  were  down 
and  the  maid  was  standing,  as  if  waiting  for 
them,  by  the  dressing-table. 

They  both  instinctively  hesitated  on  the 
threshold.  "  Tom,"  said  Vanderlyn,  hoarsely, 
"'I  don't  think  I  ought  to  come  in  here " 

"Don't  be  a  fool!  I  tell  you  she  wouldn't 
mind  a  bit.  Surely  you're  not  going  to  cut — 
now?  " 

Pargeter  took  a  step  forward ;  then  he  stood 
for  a  moment  looking  round  him,  evidently 
perplexed,  and  ill  at  ease  at  finding  himself 
thus  suddenly  introduced  into  his  wife's  inti- 
mate atmosphere. 

"I  don't  believe  she  kept  any  letters,"  he 
206 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

repeated,  then  glanced  uncertainly  at  the 
lady's-maid  who  stood  primly  by. 

"Mrs.  Pargeter  kept  some  letters  in  that 
writing  desk  over  there,  sir, — at  least  I  think 
she  did." 

Close  to  the  small  tent-bed  stood  an  old- 
fashioned  rosewood  davenport,  a  relic  of  Mar- 
garet Pargeter's  childhood  and  girlhood, 
brought  from  her  distant  English  home. 

The  maid  waited  for  a  moment,  and  then 
added,  "  The  desk  is  locked,  sir." 

"Locked?  Then  did  Mrs.  Pargeter  take 
her  keys  with  her? " 

"  I  suppose  she  did,  sir." 

"  Then  it's  no  use,"  said  Pargeter,  with  a 
certain  relief,  "  I  don't  want  to  force  the  thing 
open." 

Vanderlyn  looked  across,  coldly  and  steadily, 

at  the  woman.    Her  expression  struck  him  as 

207 


THE    UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

oddly  enigmatical;  meeting  his  glance,  Plim- 
mer  reddened,  her  eyes  dropped.  "I  expect 
any  simple  key  would  open  it,"  he  said,  briefly. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  did  ask  the  housekeeper  to  lend 
me  a  bunch  of  keys.  Here  they  are,"  she 
opened  one  of  the  dressing-table  drawers. 
"  Perhaps  one  of  the  smaller  ones  would  fit 
the  lock." 

It  was  Vanderlyn  who  took  the  keys  from 
her  strangely  reluctant  hand,  and  it  was  he 
who  at  last  felt  the  old-fashioned  lock  yield. 

"Now,  Pargeter,"  he  said,  sharply,  "will 
you  please  come  over  here? " 

The  whole  of  the  inside  of  the  desk  was  filled 
with  neat  packets,  each  carefully  tied  up  and 
docketed ;  on  several  had  been  written,  "  In 
the  case  of  my  death,  to  be  burnt " ;  on  other 
packets,  "  To  be  returned  to  Madame  de  Lera 
in  case  of  my  death." 

208 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Vanderlyn  saw  that  here  at  least  were 
none  of  his  letters,  and  none  from  Peggy's 
child. 

"  It's  no  use  bothering  about  any  of  these," 
said  Pargeter,  crossly,  "  they  can't  tell  us  any- 
thing. Why  anyone  should  trouble  to  keep 
old  letters  is  quite  beyond  me ! " 

"  That  little  knob  that  you  see  there,  sir," 
said  Plimmer,  in  her  diffident,  well-trained 
voice,  "  is  the  head  of  a  brass  pin;  if  you  draw 
it  out,  sir,  it  releases  the  side  drawer.  I  think 
you  will  find  more  letters  there, — at  least 
that  is  where  Master  Jasper's  letters  are,  I 
know." 

She  looked  furtively  at  Vanderlyn,  and  her 
look  said,  "  If  you  want  to  have  the  truth  you 
shall  have  it!" 

"I  say,  how  queer  I"  exclaimed  Pargeter. 
"A  secret  drawer!  eh,  Grid?" 

209 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"  All  old  pieces  of  furniture  have  that  kind 
of  thing,"  said  Vanderlyn,  "  there  isn't  any  se- 
cret about  it." 

Pargeter  fumbled  at  the  brass-headed  pin; 
he  pulled  it  out,  and  a  drawer  which  filled  up 
the  side  of  the  davenport  shot  out.  Yes,  here 
were  more  packets  inscribed  with  the  words, 
"  Jasper's  letters,  written  at  school,"  and  then 
others,  "  To  be  returned  to  Laurence  Van- 
derlyn in  case  of  my  death  " ;  and  two  or  three 
loose  letters. 

"  Well,  these  won't  tell  us  anything,  eh, 
Grid?"  Pargeter  opened  the  first  envelope 
under  his  hand: — 

"  DEAR  MAMMY,"  (he  read  slowly) , 

"  Please  send  me  ten  shillings.  I  have 
finished  the  French  cherry- jam.  I  should  like 
some  more.  Also  some  horses  made  of  gin- 

210 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

gerbread.  I  have  laid  3  to  1  on  Absinthe. 
Betting  is  forbidden,  but  as  it  was  Dad's  horse 
I  thought  I  might.  My  bat  is  the  best  in  the 
school. 

"  Your  loving 

"JASPER." 

"  He's  a  fine  little  chap,  isn't  he,  Grid? " 
Pargeter  was  fingering  absently  a  yellowing 
packet  of  Vanderlyn's  letters :  "  Fancy  keep- 
ing your  old  letters!  What  a  queer  thing  to 
do!" 

Vanderlyn  said  nothing.  The  maid  stared 
at  him  stealthily. 

At  last  Pargeter  put  the  packet  down,  and 
deliberately  opened  yet  another  envelope  which 
lay  loose.  "  I  suppose  this  is  the  last  note  you 
wrote  to  her? "  he  said,  then,  opening  it,  mur- 
mured its  contents  over  to  himself: — 

211 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"  DEAR  PEGGY, 

"I  hear  the  show  at  the  Gardinets  is 
worth  seeing.  I'll  call  for  you  at  two  to-mor- 
row. Yours  sincerely, 

"L.V." 

"Well,  it's  no  use  our  wasting  any  more 
time  here,  is  it?  We'd  better  go  downstairs 
and  have  a  smoke.  Why — why,  Grid  I — what's 
the  matter?" 

"  It's  nothing,"  said  Vanderlyn,  roughly, 
"  I'll  be  all  right  in  a  minute  or  two " 

"  I  don't  wonder  you're  upset,"  said  the 
other,  moodily.  "  But  just  think  what  it  must 
be  for  me.  I  can't  stand  much  more  of  it.  It's 
been  simply  awful  since  Peggy's  brother  and 
that  cousin  of  hers  arrived.  They  treat  me  as 
if  I  were  a  murderer!  They're  at  the  Prefec- 
ture of  Police  now,  making  what  they're 

pleased  to  call  their  own  enquiries." 

212 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

They  had  left  Peggy's  room,  and  as  he 
spoke  Pargeter  was  leading  the  way  down  a 
staircase  which  led  into  his  smoking-room. 

Once  there,  he  shut  the  door  and  came  and 
stood  close  by  Vanderlyn. 

"  Grid,"  he  said,  lowering  his  voice,  "  I've 
been  wondering — don't  you  think  it  would  be 
a  good  plan  if  I  were  to  go  and  see  that  for- 
tune-teller of  mine,  Madame  d'Elphis?  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  I'd  a  shot  at  her  yester- 
day evening,  but  she  was  away.  She  does 
sometimes  make  mistakes,  but  still,  she's  a  kind 
of  Providence  to  me.  I  never  do  anything  im- 
portant— I  mean  at  the  stables — without  con- 
sulting her." 

Vanderlyn  looked  at  the  eager  face,  the  odd 
twinkling  green  and  blue  eyes,  with  scarcely 
concealed  surprise  and  contempt. 

"  Surely  you  don't  think  she  could  tell  you 

213 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

where — what's  happened  to  Peggy?"  he  said 
incredulously. 

"  If  I  could  have  seen  her  last  night,"  went 
on  Pargeter,  "  I'd  have  got  away  to  England 
to-day.  There's  no  object  in  my  staying  here; 
I  can't  help  them  to  find  Peggy.  But  La 
d'Elphis  won't  see  me  before  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. If  she  can't  clear  up  the  mystery  nobody 
can.  I'm  beginning  to  think,  Grid  " — he  came 
close  up  to  the  other  man, — "  that  something 
must  have  happened  to  her.  I'm  beginning  to 
feel — worried! " 


214 


X 

AN  hour  later  Vanderlyn  had  escaped  from 
Pargeter,  and  was  standing  alone  in  Madame 
de  Lera's  drawing-room. 

He  was  scarcely  conscious  of  how  many 
hours  he  had  spent  during  the  last  terrible 
three  days,  with  the  middle-aged  French- 
woman who  had  been  so  true  and  sure  a  friend 
of  Margaret  Pargeter.  In  Madame  de  Lera's 
presence  alone  was  he  able,  to  a  certain  extent, 
to  drop  the  mask  which  he  was  compelled  to 
wear  in  the  presence  of  all  others,  and  espe- 
cially in  that  of  the  man  who,  as  time  went  on, 
seemed  more  and  more  to  lean  on  him  and  find 
comfort  in  his  companionship. 

Vanderlyn  had  walked  the  considerable  dis- 
tance from  the  Avenue  du  Bois  to  the  quiet 

215 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

street  near  the  Luxembourg  where  Adele  de 
Lera  lived,  and  all  the  way  he  had  felt  as  if 
pursued  by  a  mocking  demon. 

How  much  longer,  so  he  asked  himself,  was 
his  awful  ordeal  to  endure?  The  moments 
spent  by  him  and  Pargeter  in  Peggy's  room 
had  racked  heart  and  memory.  He  now  fled 
to  Madame  de  Lera  as  to  a  refuge  from 
himself. 

And  yet?  Yet  he  never  looked  round  her 
pretty  sitting-room,  with  its  faded,  rather 
austere  furnishings,  without  being  vividly  re- 
minded of  the  woman  he  had  loved  and  whom 
he  had  now  lost,  for  it  was  there  that  Peggy 
had  spent  the  most  peaceful  hours  of  her  life 
since  Pargeter  had  first  decided  that  hence- 
forth they  should  live  in  Paris. 

At  last  Madame  de  Lera  came  into  the  room; 
216 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

she  gave  her  visitor  a  quick  questioning  look. 
"  Have  you  nothing  new  to  tell? "  she  asked. 

And,  after  a  moment  of  scarcely  perceptible 
hesitation,  Vanderlyn  answered,  "  I  have  noth- 
ing new  to  tell,"  but  as  they  both  sat  down, 
as  he  saw  how  sad  and  worn  the  kind  face  had 
become  in  the  last  three  days,  there  came  over 
him  a  strong  wish  to  confide  in  her — to  tell  her 
the  whole  truth.  He  longed,  with  morbid  long- 
ing, to  share  his  knowledge.  She,  after  all, 
was  the  only  human  being  who  knew  the  story 
of  his  tragic,  incomplete  love.  It  would  be  an 
infinite  comfort  and  relief  to  tell  her,  if  not 
everything,  then  at  least  of  the  irony,  the  use- 
lessness,  of  their  present  search. 

Since  last  night  the  secret  no  longer  seemed 
to  be  his  alone. 

But  Vanderlyn  resisted  the  temptation.    He 

had  no  right  to  cast  even  half  his  burden  on 

217 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

another.  Any  moment  the  odious  experience 
which  had,  it  seemed,  already  befallen  Madame 
de  Lera  might  be  repeated.  She  might  again 
be  cross-questioned  by  the  police.  In  that 
event  it  was  essential  that  she  should  be  still 
able  truthfully  to  declare  that  she  knew  noth- 
ing. 

"  I  have  just  come  from  Tom  Pargeter,"  he 
observed  quietly.  "  I  can't  help  being  sorry  for 
him.  The  police  have  been  worrying  him,  and 
-—and  at  their  suggestion  we  have  been  seek- 
ing among  her  things — among  her  correspond- 
ence— for  some  clue.  But  of  course  we 
found  nothing.  Pargeter  is  longing  to  go 
away — to  England.  How  I  wish  he  would 
go, — God!  how  I  wish  he  would  go!  After 
all,  as  he  says  himself,  he  can  do  no  good  by 
staying  here.  He  would  receive  any  news 

within  an  hour." 

218 


THE  UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Madame  de  Lera  leant  forward.  "Ah!  but 
if  Mr.  Pargeter  leaves  Paris  before — before 
something  is  discovered,  his  conduct  would  be 
regarded  as  very  cruel — very  heartless." 

"  Did  you  know,"  said  Vanderlyn,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  that  Peggy  once  before  disappeared 
for  three  days?  Pargeter  keeps  harking  back 
to  that.  He  thinks  that  she  found  out  some- 
thing which  made  her  leave  him  again." 

"  Yes,"  said  Madame  de  Lera,  "  I  knew  of 
that  episode  in  their  early  married  life — but 
on  that  occasion,  Mr.  Vanderlyn,  our  poor 
friend  cannot  be  said  to  have  disappeared — 
she  only  returned  to  her  own  family." 

"  Why,  having  once  escaped,  did  she  ever  go 
back  to  him? "  asked  Vanderlyn,  sombrely. 

*  You  forget,"  said  Madame  de  Lera,  gen- 
tly, "  that  even  then  there  was  her  son." 

Her  son?    Nay,  Vanderlyn  at  no  moment 
219 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

ever  forgot  Peggy's  child.  To  himself,  he 
seemed  to  be  the  only  human  being  who  ever 
thought  of  the  poor  little  boy  lying  ill  in  far 
away  England. 

"  Well,  you  need  not  be  afraid,"  he  said 
quickly,  "that  Pargeter  will  go  away  to-day. 
He  intends  to  stay  in  Paris  at  least  till  to-mor- 
row night,  for  he  is  convinced,  it  seems,  that 
the  fortune-teller,  Madame  d'Elphis, — the 
woman  who  by  some  incredible  stroke  of  luck 
stumbled  on  the  right  name  of  that  horse  of 
his  which  won  the  Oaks, — will  be  able  to  tell 
him  what  has  happened  to — to  Margaret 
Pargeter." 

And,  meeting  Madame  de  Lera's  troubled 
gaze,  he  added  in  a  low  bitter  tone,  "  How  en- 
tirely that  gives  one  the  measure  of  the  man, 
— the  absurd  notion,  I  mean,  that  a  fortune- 
teller can  solve  the  mystery!  Fortunately  or 

220 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

unfortunately,  this  Madame  d'Elphis  has  been 
away  for  two  or  three  days,  but  she  will  be 
back,  it  seems,  in  time  to  give  Pargeter,  who  is 
a  favoured  client,  an  appointment  to-morrow 
morning." 

Adele  de  Lera  suddenly  rose  from  her  chair; 
with  a  nervous  movement  she  clasped  her 
hands  together. 

"Ah,  but  that  must  not  happen!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "We  must  think  of  a  way  by 
which  we  can  prevent  an  interview  between 
Mr.  Pargeter  and  La  d'Elphis!  Unless,"  she 
concluded  slowly,  "  there  is  no  serious  reason 
why  he  should  not  know  the  truth — now?  " 

Vanderlyn  also  got  up.  A  look  of  profound 
astonishment  came  over  his  face. 

"The  truth?"  he  repeated.  "But  surely, 
Madame  de  Lera,  it  is  impossible  that  this 

woman  whom  Pargeter  is  going  to  consult  to- 

221 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

morrow  morning  can  have  any  clue  to  the 
truth!  Surely  you  do  not  seriously  be- 
lieve  "  he  did  not  conclude  his  sentence. 

That  this  broad-minded  and  religious  French- 
woman could  possibly  cherish  any  belief  in  the 
type  of  charlatan  to  which  the  American  dip- 
lomatist supposed  the  famous  Paris  fortune- 
teller to  belong  was  incredible  to  him. 

"  I  beg  of  you  most  earnestly,"  she  repeated, 
in  a  deeply  troubled  voice,  "to  prevent  any 
meeting  between  Mr.  Pargeter  and  Madame 
d'Elphis  1  Believe  me,  I  do  not  speak  without 
reason ;  I  know  more  of  this  soothsayer  and  her 
mysterious  powers  than  you  can  possibly 
know " 

"  Do  you  mean  me  to  understand  that  you 
yourself  would  ever  consult  such  an  oracle?" 
Vanderlyn  could  not  keep  a  certain  contemp- 
tuous incredulity  out  of  his  voice. 

222 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

"  No,  indeed!  But  then  I,  unlike  you,  be- 
lieve this  woman's  traffic  to  be  of  the  devil. 
Listen,  Mr.  Vanderlyn,  and  I  will  tell  you  of 
a  case  in  which  La  d'Elphis  was  closely  con- 
cerned— a  case  of  which  I  have  absolute  knowl- 
edge." 

Madame  de  Lera  went  back  to  her  chair ;  she 
sank  into  it,  and,  with  Vanderlyn  standing  be- 
fore her,  she  told  him  the  story. 

"If  you  cast  back  your  mind  to  the  time 
when  you  were  first  in  Paris,  you  will  probably 
recall  my  husband's  niece,  a  beautiful  girl 
named  Jeanne  de  Lera? "  Vanderlyn  bent  his 
head  without  speaking;  nay  more,  a  look  of 
pain  came  over  his  tired  face,  and  sunken  eyes, 
for,  strangely  enough,  there  was  a  certain  sin- 
ister parallel  between  the  fate  which  had  be- 
fallen the  charming  girl  whose  image  was  thus 
suddenly  brought  up  before  him,  and  that  of 

223 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

the  beloved  woman  who  seemed  to  be  now  even 
more  present  to  his  emotional  memory  than  she 
had  been  in  life. 

"  As  you  know,  for  it  was  no  secret,  Jeanne 
had  what  English  and  American  people  call 
*  flirted'  with  Henri  Delavigne,  and  he  had 
sworn  that  he  would  kill  himself  on  her  wed- 
ding day.  Well,  the  poor  foolish  girl  took  this 
threat  very  seriously;  it  shadowed  her  happy 
betrothal,  and  on  the  very  day  before  her  mar- 
riage was  to  take  place,  she  persuaded  her  mar- 
ried sister  to  go  with  her  to  a  fortune-teller. 
It  was  not  her  own  future,  which  stretched 
cloudless  and  radiant  before  her,  that  tempted 
Jeanne  to  peer  into  these  mysteries;  she  only 
wished  to  be  reassured  as  to  Delavigne  and  his 
absurd  threat " 

Madame  de  Lera  stopped  speaking  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  she  went  on — 

224 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"  Madame  d'Elphis  had  just  then  become 
the  rage,  and  so  Jeanne  decided  to  consult  her, 
although  the  woman  charged  a  higher  fee  than, 
I  understand,  the  other  fortune-tellers  were 
then  doing.  When  the  two  sisters  found  them- 
selves there,  my  married  niece  bargained  that 
the  seance  should  be  half-price,  as  Jeanne  only 
wished  to  stay  a  very  few  minutes,  and  to  ask 
but  one  question.  After  the  bargain  was  con- 
cluded, Jeanne,  it  seems,  observed — the  story 
of  the  interview  has  been  told  to  me,  and  before 
me,  many  many  times — that  she  hoped  the  for- 
tune-teller would  take  as  much  trouble  as  if 
she  had  paid  the  full  fee.  On  this  the  woman 
replied,  with  a  rather  malignant  smile,  '  I  can 
assure  Mademoiselle  that  she  will  have  plenty 
for  her  money!" 

"  Then  began  the  seance.  La  d'Elphis 
gave,  as  those  sorts  of  people  always  do, 

£25 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

a  marvellously  accurate  account  of  the  poor 
child's  past, — the  simple,  virginal  past  of  a 
very  young  girl, — but  when  it  came  to  the 
future,  she  declared  that  her  vision  had  become 
blurred,  and  that  she  could  see  nothing !  Noth- 
ing! Nothing!  Both  the  sisters  pressed  her 
to  say  more,  to  predict  something  of  the  fu- 
ture; and  at  last,  speaking  very  reluctantly, 
she  admitted  that  she  saw  Jeanne,  pale, 
deathly  pale,  clad  in  a  wedding  dress,  and  she 
also  evoked  a  wonderful  vision  of  white 
flowers  .  .  .  ." 

Madame  de  Lera  looked  up  at  her  visitor, 
but  Vanderlyn  made  no  comment;  and  so  she 
went  on: — 

"  Then,  with  some  confusion,  Jeanne  sum- 
moned up  courage  to  ask  the  one  question  she 
had  come  there  to  ask.  The  answer  came  at 

once,  and  was  more  than  reassuring:    'As  to 

226 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

the  man  concerning  whom  you  are  so  anxious/ 
said  Madame  d'Elphis,  '  you  may  count  on  his 
fidelity.  The  years  will  go  on  and  others  who 
loved  you  will  forget  you — but  he  will  ever  re- 
member.' '  Then  nothing  will  happen  to  him 
to-morrow? '  asked  Jeanne  eagerly.  '  To-mor- 
row? '  replied  the  woman,  mysteriously,  *  To- 
morrow I  see  him  plunged  in  deep  grief,  and 
yet  that  which  has  brought  him  this  awful  sor- 
row will  not  perhaps  be  wholly  regretted  by 
him/ 

"  My  poor  little  niece,  if  rather  piqued,  was 
yet  much  relieved,  and  the  two  sisters  left  the 
presence  of  this  horrible,  sinister  creature." 

Madame  de  Lera  passed  her  hand  with  a 
nervous  movement  over  her  mouth —  "  It  was 
while  they  were  actually  driving  home  from 
this  seance  with  La  d'Elphis  that  the  terrible 

accident,  which  you  of  course  remember,  oc- 

227 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

curred, — an  accident  which  resulted  in  the 
younger  sister's  death,  while  the  elder  miracu- 
lously escaped  unhurt.  Jeanne  was  buried  in 
her  wedding  dress — and  the  flowers — you  re- 
call the  wonderful  flowers?  The  woman's  pre- 
dictions as  to  Delavigne's  constancy  came 
strangely  true;  who  now  remembers  Jeanne, 
save  her  poor  mother — and  Delavigne? " 

"Yes,  it's  a  very  curious,  striking  story," 
said  Vanderlyn,  slowly,  "  but — forgive  me  for 
saying  so — if  your  niece's  marriage  had  taken 
place  on  the  morrow,  would  anything  of  all 
this  have  been  remembered  by  either  herself  or 
her  sister?  The  predictions  of  Madame  d'El- 
phis  were  of  a  kind  which  it  would  be  safe  to 
make  of  any  French  girl,  belonging  to  your 
world,  on  the  eve  of  her  marriage " 

He  stopped  abruptly.  In  his  wearied  and 
yet  morbidly  active  mind,  an  idea,  a  sugges- 

228 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

tion,  of  which  he  was  half -ashamed,  was  be- 
ginning to  germinate. 

"  I  should  be  grateful,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  if 
you  can  tell  me  something  more  about  La 
d'Elphis.  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  prevent  an  interview  between  her  and 
Pargeter, — but  still  something  might  be  done 
— Is  she  respectable?  Can  she,  for  example," 
— his  eyes  dropped, — "  be  bribed? " 

Madame  de  Lera  looked  at  Vanderlyn 
keenly.  Perhaps  she  saw  further  into  his  mind 
than  an  American  or  an  Englishwoman  would 
have  done. 

"  All  these  sorts  of  people  can  be  bribed," 
she  said,  quietly.  "As  to  her  private  life,  I 
know  nothing  of  it,  but  either  of  my  nephews 
would  be  able  to  tell  you  whatever  is  known  of 
her,  for  since  that  tragic  affair  our  family  have 

always  taken  a  morbid  interest  in  La  d'Elphis. 

229 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Would  you  like  to  know  something  about  her 
now,  at  once?  Shall  I  send  for  my  nephew?  " 

In  answer  to  Vanderlyn's  look,  rather  than 
to  his  muttered  assent,  Madame  de  Lera  left 
the  room. 

During  the  few  moments  of  her  absence,  a 
plan  began  to  elaborate  itself  with  insistent 
clearness  in  Vanderlyn's  mind;  he  saw,  or 
thought  he  saw,  that  here  might  be  an  issue  out 
of  his  terrible  dilemma.  And  yet,  even  while 
so  seeing  the  way  become  clear  before  him,  he 
felt  a  deep,  instinctive  repugnance  from  the 
method  which  would  have  to  be  employed  ... 

There  came  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and, 
turning  his  back  to  the  window,  he  prepared 
himself  for  the  inevitable  question  with  which, 
during  the  last  three  days,  almost  everyone  he 
met  had  greeted  him. 

But  the  youth  who  came  into  the  room  with 

230 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Madame  de  Lera,  if  a  typical  Parisian  in  the 
matter  of  his  careful,  rather  foppish,  dress, 
and  in  his  bored  expression,  yet  showed  that 
he  was  possessed  of  the  old-fashioned  good 
breeding  which  is  still  to  be  found  in  France, 
if  only  in  that  peculiar  section  of  French  so- 
ciety known  collectively  as  "  the  faubourg." 
Jacques  de  Lera,  alone  among  the  many  men 
whom  Vanderlyn  had  come  across  since  the 
disappearance  of  Mrs.  Pargeter  had  become 
the  talk  of  the  town,  made  no  allusion  to  the 
mystery,  and  asked  no  puerile  question  of  the 
man  who  was  known  to  be  her  friend. 

"  Mr.  Vanderlyn  has  been  asking  me  what  I 
knew  of  the  fortune-teller,  Madame  d'Elphis. 
But,  beyond  the  story  concerning  your  poor 
cousin  Jeanne,  I  know  nothing.  You,  Jacques, 
will  doubtless  be  able  to  tell  us  something  of 
her.  Is  it  true,  for  instance,  that  she  is  some- 

231 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

times  employed  by  the  police?  I  seem  to  have 
heard  so — not  lately,  but  long  ago? " 

"  They  say  so,"  said  Jacques  de  Lera,  cast- 
ing a  quick  glance  at  Vanderlyn.  "  They  say 
she  helped  to  catch  Pranzini.  Extraordinary 
stories  are  told  of  her  gifts.  But  none  of  us 
have  ever  been  at  all  anxious  to  consult  her — 
after  poor  Jeanne's  affair.  You  may  have 
seen  her," — he  turned  to  Vanderlyn, — "  for 
she's  sometimes  at  first  nights  and  at  private 
views.  She's  by  way  of  being  artistic  and 
cultivated;  and  though  she's  strikingly  hand- 
some, she  dresses  oddly — poses  as  a  Muse." 

"  She  must  make  a  great  deal  of  money," 
said  Madame  de  Lera,  thoughtfully;  with  a 
half  smile  she  asked  her  nephew  the  question : 
"  Is  there  a  Monsieur  d'Elphis?  Are  there  in- 
fant oracles?" 

Jacques  burst  out  laughing,  and  both  Van- 

232 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

derlyn  and  Madame  de  Lera  started.  It  was 
the  first  time  for  many  days  that  they  had 
heard  the  sound  of  simple  human  laughter. 

"  My  dear  aunt,"  said  the  young  man,  chuck- 
ling, "  the  husband — qua  husband — is,  I  assure 
you,  an  unknown  animal  in  that  strange  under- 
world of  which  our  beautiful  city  is  the  chosen 
Mecca.  No,  no,  Madame  d'Elphis  does  not 
waste  her  time  in  producing  little  oracles !  If 
you  wish  to  hear  the  truth,  I  mean  the  whole 
truth,  I  will  tell  it  you." 

And  then,  as  Madame  de  Lera  nodded  her 
head,  he  added,  more  seriously,  "  La  d'Elphis 
is  one  of  two  sisters,  the  daughters  of  a  very 
respectable  notary  at  Orange.  Both  threw 
their  caps  over  the  windmill,  the  one  to  become 
an  unsuccessful  actress,  the  other  a  successful 
soothsayer.  La  d'Elphis  has  one  virtue — she 
is  a  devoted  sister,  and  lives  with  the  other's 

233 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

smalaJi.  As  to  her  own  private  life,  she  has 
been  for  many  years  the  friend  of  Achille  de 
Florae.  She  became  acquainted  with  him  not 
long  before  his  final  crash;  who  knows,  per- 
haps she  helped  to  precipitate  it!  It  is  to  be 
hoped  she  did,  for  since  then  he  has  practically 
lived  on  her.  And  so,  my  dear  aunt,  she  is  in 
a  sense  our  cousin  de  la  main  gauche! " 

Vanderlyn  looked  away  from  Madame  de 
Lera.  He  was  sorry  the  young  man  had  been 
so  frank,  for  the  Marquis  de  Florae  was  not 
only  by  birth  a  member  of  her  circle,  but  he 
was,  as  Jacques  rather  cruelly  pointed  out,  a 
connection  of  the  de  Lera  family. 

"  Poor  creature ! "  exclaimed  Adele  de 
Lera;  her  voice  was  filled  with  involuntary 
pity. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Jacques,  in  answer  to  her 
look,  "  you  may  well  say  '  poor  creature ' ! 

234, 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

For  it's  from  La  d'Elphis  that  our  disrepu- 
table cousin  draws  the  major  part  of  his  uncer- 
tain revenues.  When  Paris  is  credulous,  his 
credit  goes  up,  and  he  has  plenty  of  money  to 
play  with.  I'm  told  that  the  other  night  he 
lost  ten  thousand  francs  at  *  Monaco  Ju- 
nior'!" 

Vanderlyn  made  a  slight  movement. 
"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that  is  true, — I  was  there." 

"  In  the  lean  months,"  continued  Jacques, 
who  did  not  often  find  his  conversation  listened 
to  with  such  respect  and  attention  as  was  now 
the  case,  "  I  mean,  of  course,  in  the  summer — 
poor  Florae  has  to  retrench,  but  La  d'Elphis 
does  not  remain  idle.  She  goes  to  Aix,  to 
Vichy,  to  Dieppe  for  the  Grande  Semaine, — 
in  fact,  wherever  rich  foreigners  gather;  and 
wherever  she  goes  she  finds  plenty  eager  to 
consult  her!" 

235 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"  Is  that  all  you  wanted  to  know?  "  said 
Madame  de  Lera  to  Vanderlyn. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  that  is  all.  I  did 
not  know — I  had  no  idea — that  our  poor  old 
world  was  still  so  credulous  1 " 


236 


XI 

As  Vanderlyn  walked  away  from  Madame 
de  Lera's  door,  the  plan,  of  which  the  first 
outline  had  come  to  him  while  she  was  telling 
the  strange  story  concerning  the  fortune-teller 
and  her  niece,  had  taken  final  shape;  and  it 
now  impressed  itself  upon  him  as  the  only  way 
out  of  his  terrible  dilemma. 

Vanderlyn  was  by  nature  a  truthful  man, 
and  in  spite  of  the  ambiguous  nature  of  his 
relations  with  Margaret  Pargeter,  he  had  never 
been  compelled  to  lie  in  defence  of  their  friend- 
ship. Even  during  these  last  few  days,  he  had 
as  far  as  was  possible  avoided  untruth,  and 
only  to  one  person,  that  is,  to  the  Prefect  of 
Police,  had  he  lied — lied  desperately,  and  lied 

successfully.    This  was  why,  even  while  telling 

237 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

himself  that  he  had  at  last  found  a  way  in 
which  to  convey  the  truth  to  Pargeter,  he  felt 
a  deep  repugnance  from  the  methods  which 
he  saw  he  would  be  compelled  to  employ. 

More  than  once  the  American  diplomatist 
had  had  occasion  to  take  part  in  delicate  nego- 
tiations with  one  of  those  nameless,  countryless 
individuals,  whose  ideal  it  is  to  be  in  the  pay 
of  a  foreign  Embassy,  and  who  always  set  on 
their  ignoble  services  a  far  higher  value  than 
those  services  generally  deserve.  But  Vander- 
lyn  belonged  to  the  type  of  man  who  finds  it 
far  easier  to  fight  for  others,  and  especially 
for  his  country,  than  for  himself.  Still,  in  this 
case,  was  he  not  fighting  for  Margaret  Par- 
geter? For  what  he  knew  she  valued  far  more 
than  life  itself — her  honour.  What  he  was 
about  to  do  was  hateful  to  him — he  was  aware 

how  severely  he  would  have  judged  such  con- 

238 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

duct  in  another — but  it  seemed  the  only  way, 
a  way  made  miraculously  possible  by  the  su- 
perstitious folly  of  Tom  Pargeter. 

The  offer  Vanderlyn  was  about  to  convey 
to  Madame  d'Elphis  was  quite  simple;  in  ex- 
change for  saying  a  very  few  words  to  Tom 
Pargeter, — words  which  would  add  greatly  to 
the  belief  the  millionaire  already  possessed  in 
what  he  took  to  be  her  extraordinary  gifts  of 
divination, — the  soothsayer  would  receive  ten 
thousand  francs. 

There  need  be  no  difficulty  even  as  to  the 
words  she  should  use  to  reveal  the  truth;  Van- 
derlyn had  cut  out  from  the  Petit  Journal 
the  paragraph  which  told  of  the  strange  dis- 
covery made  three  nights  before  at  Orange. 
He  would  inform  her  that  Mr.  Pargeter's 
friends,  having  assured  themselves  that  the 
unknown  woman  in  question  was  Mrs.  Par- 

239 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

geter,  desired  to  break  the  sad  news  through 
her,  instead  of  in  a  more  commonplace  fashion. 

Vanderlyn  knew  enough  of  that  curious  un- 
der-world of  Paris  which  preys  on  wealthy 
foreigners,  to  feel  sure  that  this  would  not  be 
the  first  time  that  Madame  d'Elphis  had  been 
persuaded,  in  her  own  interest,  to  add  the 
agreeable  ingredient  of  certainty  to  one  of  her 
predictions.  The  diplomatist  also  believed  he 
could  carry  through  the  negotiation  without 
either  revealing  his  identity,  or  giving  the 
soothsayer  any  clue  to  his  reason  for  making 
her  so  strange  a  proposal. 

Having  made  his  plan,  Vanderlyn  found  it 
remarkably  easy  to  carry  out. 

In  London,  such  a  man  as  himself  would 
have  found  it  difficult  to  have  ascertained  at  a 
moment's  notice  the  address  of  even  a  famous 
palmist  or  fortune-teller.  But  in  everything 

240 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

to  do  with  social  life  Paris  is  highly  organised, 
London  singularly  chaotic. 

On  reaching  home,  he  at  once  discovered, 
with  a  certain  bitter  amusement,  that  Madame 
d'Elphis  disdained  the  artifices  with  which  she 
might  reasonably  have  surrounded  her  mys- 
terious craft.  Not  only  were  her  name,  ad- 
dress, and  even  hours  of  consultation,  to  be 
found  in  the  "  Tout  Paris,"  but  there  also  was 
inscribed  her  telephone  number. 

Vanderlyn  hated  the  telephone.  He  never 
used  it  unless  he  was  compelled  to  do  so;  but 
now  he  went  through  the  weary,  odious  pre- 
liminaries with  a  certain  eagerness —  Alo! 
Alo!  Alo!" 

At  last  a  woman's  voice  answered,  "  Yes — 
yes.  Who  is  it?" 

"  Can  Madame  d'Elphis  receive  a  client  this 
evening? " 

241 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  he  heard  a  ques- 
tion asked,  a  murmured  answer  of  which  the 
sense  evaded  him,  and  then  a  refusal, — not, 
he  fancied,  a  very  decided  refusal, — followed 
by  a  discreet  attempt  to  discover  his  name,  his 
nationality,  his  address,  with  a  suggestion  that 
Madame  d'Elphis  would  be  at  his  disposal  the 
next  morning. 

A  touch  of  doubt  in  the  quick,  hesitating  ac- 
cents of  the  unseen  woman  emboldened  Van- 
derlyn.  He  conveyed,  civilly  and  clearly,  that 
he  was  quite  prepared  to  offer  a  very  special 
fee  for  the  favour  he  was  asking ;  and  he  indi- 
cated that,  though  he  had  been  told  the  usual 
price  of  a  seance  was  fifty  francs,  he — the  mys- 
terious stranger  who  was  speaking  to  Madame 
d'Elphis  through  the  telephone — was  so  ex- 
ceedingly anxious  to  be  received  by  her  that 
evening  that  he  would  pay  a  fancy  fee, — in 

242 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

fact  as  much  as  a  thousand  francs, — for  the 
privilege  of  consulting  the  famous  fortune- 
teller. 

To  Vanderlyn's  vexation  and  surprise,  there 
followed  a  long  pause. 

At  last  came  the  answer,  the  expected  as- 
sent; but  it  was  couched  in  words  which  sur- 
prised and  vaguely  disquieted  him. 

:'  Very  well,  sir,  my  sister  will  be  ready  to 
receive  you  at  eight  o'clock  to-night ;  but  she  is 
going  out,  so  she  will  not  be  able  to  give  you  a 
prolonged  seance." 

Then  he  had  not  been  speaking  to  the  sooth- 
sayer herself?  Vanderlyn  felt  vaguely  dis- 
quieted and  discomfited.  He  had  counted  on 
having  to  take  but  one  person  into  his  half- 
confidence;  and  then — well,  he  had  told  him- 
self while  at  the  telephone  that  he  would  not 
find  it  difficult  to  conclude  the  bargain  he  de- 

243 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

sired  to  make  with  the  woman  whose  highly- 
pitched,  affected  voice  had  given  him,  or  so  he 
had  thought,  the  clue  to  a  venal  personality. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  considerable  excite- 
ment and  curiosity  that  the  diplomatist,  that 
same  evening,  walked  up  the  quiet,  now  de- 
serted, streets  where  dwelt  the  most  famous  of 
Parisian  fortune-tellers. 

Madame  d'Elphis  had  chosen  a  prosaic  set- 
ting for  the  scene  of  her  mysteries,  for  the 
large  white  house  looked  very  new,  a  huge 
wedge  of  modern  ugliness  in  the  pretty  old 
street,  its  ugliness  made  the  more  apparent  by 
its  proximity  to  one  of  those  leafy  gardens 
which  form  oases  of  fragrant  stillness  in  the 
more  ancient  quarters  of  the  town. 

A  curt  answer  was  given  by  the  concierge  in 
reply  to  Vanderlyn's  enquiry  for  Madame 

244 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

d'Elphis.  "Walk  through  the  courtyard;  the 
person  you  seek  occupies  the  entresol  of  the 
house  you  will  see  there." 

And  then  he  saw  that  lying  back,  quite  con- 
cealed from  the  street,  was  another  and  very 
different  type  of  dwelling,  and  one  far  more 
suited  to  the  requirements  of  even  a  latter- 
day  soothsayer. 

As  he  made  his  Way  over  the  dimly-lighted, 
ill-paved  court  which  separated  the  new  build- 
ing, that  giving  onto  the  street,  from  the  sev- 
enteenth-century mansion,  Vanderlyn  realised 
that  his  first  impression  had  been  quite  errone- 
ous. Madame  d'Elphis  had  evidently  gauged, 
and  that  very  closely,  the  effect  she  desired  to 
produce  on  her  patrons.  Even  in  the  daytime 
the  mansarded  house  which  now  gloomed  be- 
fore him  must  look  secret,  mysterious.  Be- 
hind such  narrow  latticed  windows  might  well 

245 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

have  dwelt  Cagliostro,  or,  further  back,  the 
more  sinister  figure  of  La  Voison. 

But  something  of  this  feeling  left  him  as  he 
passed  through  the  door  which  gave  access  to 
the  old  house ;  and,  as  he  began  to  walk  up  the 
shabby  gas-lit  staircase,  he  felt  that  his  re- 
pugnant task  would  be  an  easy  one.  The 
woman  who,  living  here,  allowed  herself  the 
luxury  of  such  a  lover  as  was  the  Marquis  de 
Florae,  would  not — nay,  could  not — hesitate 
before  such  an  offer  as  ten  thousand  francs. 

There  was  but  one  door  on  the  entresol,  and 
on  its  panel  was  inscribed  in  small  gold  letters 
the  word  "  d'Elphis."  As  Vanderlyn  rang  the 
bell,  the  odd  name  gleamed  at  him  in  the  gas- 
light. 

There  followed  a  considerable  delay,  but  at 
last  he  saw  a  face  peering  at  him  through  the 

little  grating — significantly  styled  a  Judas, 

246 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

and  doubtless  dating  from  the  Revolution, — 
still  to  be  found  in  many  an  old-fashioned 
Parisian  front-door. 

The  inspection  having  apparently  proved 
satisfactory,  the  door  opened,  and  Vanderlyn 
was  admitted,  by  a  young  bonne  a  tout  faire, 
into  a  hall  filled  with  a  strong  smell  of  cook- 
ing, a  smell  that  made  it  clear  that  Madame 
d'Elphis  and  her  family — her  smalahf  as 
Jacques  de  Lera  had  called  them — had  the 
true  Southern  love  of  garlic. 

Without  asking  his  name  or  business,  the 
servant  showed  him  straight  into  a  square, 
gold-and-white  salon.  Standing  there,  for- 
getful for  a  moment  of  his  distasteful  errand, 
Vanderlyn  looked  about  him  with  mingled  con- 
tempt and  disgust,  for  his  eyes,  trained  to  ob- 
serve, had  at  once  become  aware  that  the  note 
of  this  room  was  showy  vulgarity.  The  furni- 

247 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

ture  was  a  mixture  of  imitation  Louis  XV.  and 
sham  Empire.  On  the  woven  tapestry  sofa 
lay  a  child's  toy,  once  costly,  but  now  broken. 

How  amazing  the  fact  that  here,  amid  these 
pretentiously  ugly  and  commonplace  sur- 
roundings, innumerable  human  beings  had 
stood,  and  would  stand,  trembling  with  fear, 
suspense,  and  hope!  Vanderlyn  reminded 
himself  that  here  also  Tom  Pargeter,  a  man 
accustomed  to  measure  everything  by  the 
money  standard,  had  waited  many  a  time  in 
the  sure  belief  that  this  was  the  ante-chamber 
to  august  and  awe-inspiring  mysteries;  here, 
all  unknowing  of  what  the  future  held,  he 
would  come  to-morrow  morning,  to  learn,  for 
once,  the  truth — the  terrible  truth — from  the 
charlatan  to  whom  he,  poor  fool,  pinned  his 
faith. 

Suddenly  a  door    opened,  and  Vanderlyn 

248 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

turned  round  with  eager  curiosity,  a  curiosity 
which  became  merged  in  astonishment.  The 
woman  advancing  towards  him  made  her  vul- 
gar surroundings  sink  into  blurred  insignifi- 
cance; for  Madame  d'Elphis,  with  her  slight, 
sinuous  figure,  draped  in  a  red  peplum,  her 
pale  face  lit  by  dark  tragic  eyes,  looked  the 
sybil  to  the  life 

Vanderlyn  bowed,  with  voluntary  defer- 
ence. "  Monsieur,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  deep 
voice,  "  I  must  ask  you  to  follow  me ;  this  is 
my  sister's  appartement.  I  live  next  door." 

She  preceding  him,  they  walked  through  an 
untidy  dining-room  of  which  the  furniture — 
the  sham  Renaissance  chairs  and  walnut-wood 
buffet — looked  strangely  alien  to  Vanderlyn's 
guide,  into  a  short,  ill-lighted  passage,  which 
terminated  in  a  locked,  handleless  door. 

The   woman  whom  he  now   knew   to   be 

249 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Madame  d'Elphis  turned,  and,  facing  Van- 
derlyn,  for  the  first  time  allowed  her  melan- 
choly eyes  to  rest  full  on  her  unknown  visitor. 

'You  have  your  stick,  your  hat?"  she 
asked.  "Yes? — that  is  well;  for  when  our 
seance  is  over,  you  will  leave  by  another  way, 
a  way  which  leads  into  the  garden,  and  so  into 
the  street.'* 

She  unlocked  the  door,  and  he  followed  her 
into  a  large  book-lined  study — masculine  in  its 
sober  colouring  and  simple  furnishings.  Above 
the  mantelpiece  was  arranged  a  trophy  of 
swords  and  fencing-sticks;  opposite  hung  a 
superb  painting  by  Henner.  Vanderlyn  re- 
membered having  seen  this  picture  exhibited  in 
the  Salon  some  five  years  before.  It  had  been 
shown  under  the  title  "  The  Crystal-Gazer," 
and  it  was  even  now  an  admirable  portrait  of 
his  hostess,  for  so,  unconsciously,  had  Vander- 

250 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

lyn  begun  to  regard  the  woman  who  was  so 
little  like  what  he  had  expected  to  find  her. 

Madame  d'Elphis  beckoned  to  him  to  follow 
her  into  yet  another,  and  a  much  smaller, 
room.  Ah!  This  was  evidently  the  place 
where  she  pursued  her  strange  calling;  for 
here — so  Vanderlyn,  trying  to  combat  the 
eerie  impression  she  produced  on  him,  sardon- 
ically told  himself — were  the  stage  properties 
of  her  singular  craft. 

The  high  walls  were  hung  with  red  cloth, 
against  which  gleamed  innumerable  plaster 
casts  of  hands.  The  only  furniture  consisted 
of  a  round,  polished  table,  which  took  up 
a  good  deal  of  the  space  in  the  room;  on  the 
table  stood  an  old-fashioned  lamp,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  circle  of  light  cast  by  the  lamp 
on  its  shining  surface,  a  round  crystal  ball. 
Two  chairs  were  drawn  up  to  the  table. 

251 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

An  extraordinary  sensation  of  awe — of 
vague  disquiet — crept  over  Laurence  Vander- 
lyn;  he  suddenly  remembered  the  tragic  story 
of  Jeanne  de  Lera.  Was  it  here  that  the  sin- 
ister interview  with  the  doomed  girl  had  taken 
place? 

It  was  Madame  d'Elphis  who  broke  the 
long  silence: — 

"I  must  ask  you,  Monsieur,"  she  said, 
stiffly,  "  to  depose  the  fee  on  the  table.  It  is 
the  custom." 

Vanderlyn's  thin  nervous  hand  shot  up  to 
his  mouth  to  hide  a  smile;  the  eerie  feeling 
which  had  so  curiously  possessed  him  dropped 
away,  leaving  him  slightly  ashamed. 

"Poor  woman,"  he  said  to  himself,  "she 
cannot  even  divine  that  I  am  an  honest  man! " 

He  bent  his  head  gravely,  and  took  the  roll 
of  notes  with  which  he  had  come  provided,  out 

252 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

of  his  pocket.  He  placed  a  thousand-franc 
note  on  the  table.  "  What  a  fool  she  must 
think  me! "  he  mentally  exclaimed;  then  came 
the  consoling  reflection,  "  But  she  won't  think 
me  a  fool  for  long." 

Madame  d'Elphis  scarcely  glanced  at  the 
thousand-franc  note;  she  left  it  lying  where 
Vanderlyn  had  put  it.  "  Will  you  please  sit 
down,  Monsieur?"  she  said. 

Vanderlyn  rather  reluctantly  obeyed  her. 
As  she  seated  herself  opposite  to  him,  he  was 
struck  by  the  sad  intensity  of  her  face ;  he  told 
himself  that  she  had  once  been — nay,  that  she 
was  still — beautiful,  but  it  was  the  tortured 
beauty  of  a  woman  who  lives  by  and  through 
her  emotions. 

He  also  realised  that  his  task  would  not  be 
quite  as  easy  as  he  had  hoped  it  would  be;  the 
manner  of  La  d'Elphis  was  cold,  correct,  and 

253 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

ladylike — no  other  word  would  serve — to  the 
point  of  severity.  He  saw  that  he  would  have 
to  word  his  offer  of  a  bribe  in  as  least  offen- 
sive a  fashion  as  was  possible.  But  while  he 
was  trying  to  find  a  sentence  with  which  to 
embark  on  the  delicate  negotiation,  he  sud- 
denly felt  his  left  hand  grasped  and  turned 
over,  with  a  firm  and  yet  impersonal  touch. 

The  centre  of  the  soothsayer's  cool  palm 
rested  itself  on  the  ring — his  mother's  wedding 
ring — loosely  encircling  his  little  finger,  and 
then  Madame  d'Elphis  began  speaking  in  a 
low,  quiet,  and  yet  hesitating,  voice, — a  voice 
which  suddenly  recalled  to  her  listener  her 
Southern  birth  and  breeding ;  it  was  strangely 
unlike  the  accents  in  which  she  had  asked  him 
to  produce  the  promised  fee. 

Surprise,  a  growing,  ever-deepening  sur- 
prise, kept  Vanderlyn  silent.  He  soon  forgot 

254 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

completely,  for  the  time  being,  the  business 
which  had  brought  him  there. 

"  For  you  the  crystal,"  she  whispered,  "  for 
others  the  Grand  Jeu.  You  have  not  come,  as 
others  do,  to  learn  the  future ;  you  do  not  care 
what  happens  to  you — now." 

She  waited  a  moment,  then,  "the  ring 
brings  with  it  two  visions,"  she  said,  fixing  her 
eyes  on  the  polished  depths  before  her.  "  Vis- 
ions of  love  and  death — of  pain  and  parting; 
one,  if  clear,  yet  recedes  far  into  the  past.  .  ." 

She  raised  her  voice,  and  began  speaking 
in  a  monotonous  recitative: 

"  I  see  you  with  a  woman  standing  in  a 
garden ;  behind  you  both  is  a  great  expanse  of 
water.  She  is  so  like  you  that  I  think  she 
must  be  your  mother.  She  wears  her  grey 
hair  in  Madonna  bands;  she  puts  her  arms 
round  your  neck;  as  she  does  so,  I  see  on  her 

255 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

left  hand  one  ring — the  ring  which  you  are 
now  wearing,  and  which  I  am  now  touching. 
She,  your  mother,  is  bidding  you  good-bye, 
she  knows  that  she  will  never  see  you  again, 
but  you  do  not  know  it,  so  she  smiles,  for  she 
is  a  brave  woman " 

Madame  d'Elphis  stopped  speaking.  Van- 
derlyn  stared  at  her  with  a  sense  of  growing 
excitement  and  amazement ;  he  was  telling  him- 
self that  this  woman  undoubtedly  possessed 
the  power  of  reading  not  only  the  minds,  but 
even  the  emotional  memories,  of  those  who 
came  to  consult  her.  .  .  .  Yes,  it  was  true; 
his  last  parting  with  his  mother  had  been 
out  of  doors,  in  the  garden  of  their  own 
family  house  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Cham- 
plain. 

As  he  looked  fixedly  at  the  crystal-gazer's 
downcast  eyes,  his  own  emotions  seemed  to  be- 

256 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

come  reflected  in  her  countenance.  She 
grasped  his  hand  with  a  firmer,  a  more  con- 
vulsive pressure. 

"I  see  you  again,"  she  exclaimed,  "and 
again  with  a  woman!  This  vision  is  very 
clear;  it  evokes  the  immediate  past — almost 
the  present.  The  woman  is  young ;  her  hair  is 
fair,  and  in  a  cloud  about  her  head.  You  are 
together  on  a  journey.  It  is  night " 

Madame  d'Elphis  stopped  speaking  ab- 
ruptly; she  looked  up  at  Vanderlyn,  and  he 
saw  that  her  dark  eyes  were  brimming  with 
tears,  her  mouth  quivering. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  describe  what  I  see? " 
she  asked,  in  an  almost  inaudible  voice. 

"  No,"  said  Vandelyn,  hoarsely, — he  seemed 
to  feel  Peggy's  arms  about  his  neck,  her  soft 
lips  brushing  his  cheek. 

The  soothsayer  bent  down  till  her  face  was 

257 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

within  a  few  inches  of  the  polished  surface  into 
which  she  was  gazing. 

"Now  she  is  lying  down,"  she  whispered. 
"  Her  face  is  turned  away.  Is  she  asleep  ? 
No,  she  is  dead! — dead!" 

"  Can  you  see  her  now?  "  asked  Vanderlyn. 
"  For  God's  sake  tell  me  where  she  is !  Can 
I  hope  to  see  her  again — once  more?" 

Madame  d'Elphis  withdrew  her  hand  from 
that  of  Vanderlyn. 

'  You  will  only  see  her  face,"  she  an- 
swered, slowly,  "  through  the  coffin-lid.  That 
you  will  see.  As  to  where  she  is  now — I  see 
her  clearly,  and  yet," — she  went  on,  as  if  to 
herself,  "nay,  but  that's  impossible!  I  see 
her,"  she  went  on,  raising  her  voice,  "  laid  out 
for  burial  under  a  shed  in  a  beautiful  garden. 
The  garden  is  that  of  Dr.  Fortoul's  house  at 
Orange.  At  the  head  of  the  pallet  on  which 

258 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

she  lies  there  are  two  blessed  candles;  a  nun 
kneels  on  the  ground.  Stay, — who  is  that 
coming  in  from  the  garden?  It  is  the  wife  of 
the  doctor,  it  is  Madame  Fortoul," — again 
there  came  a  note  of  wavering  doubt  into  the 
voice  of  the  crystal-gazer.  "  She  is  whisper- 
ing to  the  nun,  and  I  hear  her  words ;  she  says, 
'Poor  child,  she  is  young,  too  young  to  have 
died  like  this,  alone.  I  am  having  a  mass  said 
for  her  soul  to-morrow  morning.' ' 

Madame  d'Elphis  looked  up.  Her  large 
eyes,  of  which  the  lids  were  slightly  reddened, 
rested  on  Vanderlyn's  pale,  drawn  face. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  reluctant 
voice,  "to  be  honest  with  you,  I  fear  I  have 
been  leading  you  astray.  During  the  last  few 
moments  it  is  my  own  past  life  that  has  been 
rising  before  me,  not  the  present  of  this  poor 

dead  woman.    When  I  am  tired — and  I  am 

259 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

very  tired  to-night — some  such  trick  is  some- 
times  played  me.  I  was  born  at  Orange ;  as  a 
child  I  spent  many  hours  in  the  beautiful  gar- 
den which  just  now  rose  up  before  me;  I  once 

saw  a  dead  body  in  that  shed Madame 

Fortoul,  who  is  devout,  often  has  masses  said 
for  those  who  meet  with  sudden  deaths  and 
whose  bodies  are  brought  to  her  husband." 

The  soothsayer  rose  from  her  chair. 

"  If  you  will  come  to  me  to-morrow,"  she 
said,  "  bringing  with  you  something  which  be- 
longed to  this  lady,  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  able 
to  tell  you  all  you  wish  to  know.  For  that  sec- 
ond seance,"  she  added  hurriedly,  "  I  shall  of 
course  ask  no  further  fee." 

Vanderlyn,  waking  as  from  a  dream,  heard 
sounds  in  the  other  room,  the  coming  and 
going  of  a  man's  footsteps.  He  also  got 
up. 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  I  thank  you 
from  my  heart.  I  recognise  the  truth  of  all 
you  have  told  me,  with  one  paramount  excep- 
tion. It  is  true  that  the  woman  whom  you  saw 
lying  dead  is  now  in  the  house  of  Dr.  Fortoul 
at  Orange;  the  fact  that  you  once  knew  the 
place  is  an  accident — and  nothing  but  an  acci- 
dent. You  have,  however,  Madame,  made  one 
strange  mistake." 

He  took  out  of  his  pocket  and  held  in  his 
hand  the  large  open  envelope  containing,  in 
addition  to  the  remainder  of  the  notes  he  had 
brought,  the  slip  he  had  cut  from  the  news- 
paper. "  Here  is  the  proof  that  all  you  have 
seen  is  true,"  he  repeated,  "  with  one  excep- 
tion— This  lady  was  alone  in  the  train.  It  is 
important  that  this  should  be  thoroughly  un- 
derstood by  you,  for  to-morrow  you  will  be 

called  upon  to  testify  to  the  fact." 

261 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Madame  d'Elphis  stiffened  into  deep  atten- 
tion. 

"  To-morrow  morning,"  continued  Vander- 
lyn,  very  deliberately,  "  one  of  your  regular 
clients  is  coming  to  ask  you  to  assist  him  to 
solve  a  terrible  mystery.  I  will  tell  you  his 
name — it  is  Mr.  Pargeter,  the  well-known 
sportsman.  He  is  coming  to  ask  you  to  help 
him  to  find  Mrs.  Pargeter,  who  some  days  ago 
mysteriously  disappeared.  This  lady's  death, 
but  he  does  not  yet  know  it,  took  place  while 
she  was  travelling — travelling  alone.  I  repeat, 
Madame,  that  she  was  alone — quite  alone — 
on  her  fatal  journey/' 

Vanderlyn  stopped  speaking  a  moment; 
then  his  voice  lowered,  became  troubled  and 
beseeching. 

"  Once  you  have  revealed  the  truth  to  Mr. 

262 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Pargeter, — and  he  will  believe  implicitly  all 
you  say, — then,  Madame,  you  will  not  only 
have  accomplished  a  good  action,  but  a  sum, 
bringing  the  fee  for  the  seance  which  is  just 
concluded  up  to  ten  thousand  francs,  will  be 
placed  at  your  disposal  by  me." 

Madame  d'Elphis  looked  long  and  search- 
ingly  at  the  man  standing  before  her. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "  will  you  give  me 
your  word  that  the  death  of  Mrs.  Pargeter 
was  as  this  paper  declares  it  to  have  been — 
that  is  to  say,  a  natural  death? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Vanderlyn,  "  she  knew 
that  she  would  die  in  this  way — suddenly." 

"  Then,"  said  the  f  ortune-teller,  coldly,  "  I 
will  do  as  you  desire." 

Vanderlyn,  following  a  sudden  impulse,  put 
the  envelope  he  held  in  his  hand  on  the  table. 

263 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

"  Here  is  the  fee,"  he  said,  briefly.  "  I  know 
that  I  can  trust  in  your  discretion,  your  loyalty, 
— may  I  add,  Madame,  in  your  kindness?" 

"  I  am  ashamed,"  she  whispered,  "  ashamed 
to  take  this  money."  She  clasped  her  hands  to- 
gether in  an  unconscious  gesture  of  supplica- 
tion, and  then  asked,  with  a  curious  childish 
directness,  "It  is  a  great  deal — can  you  af- 
ford it,  Monsieur? " 

"Yes,"  he  said,  hastily;  the  suffering, 
shamed  expression  on  her  face  moved  him 
strangely. 

"When  you  next  see  Mr.  Pargeter,"  she 
murmured,  "  you  shall  have  written  proof  that 
I  have  carried  out  your  wish." 

She  tapped  the  table  twice,  sharply, — then 
led  the  way  into  the  larger  room.  It  was 
empty,  but  Vanderlyn,  even  as  he  entered, 
saw  a  door  closing  quietly. 

264 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

Madame  d'Elphis  walked  across  to  an  un- 
curtained window;  she  opened  it  and  stepped 
through  on  to  a  broad  terrace  balcony. 

"  Walk  down  the  iron  stairway,"  she  said,  in 
a  low  voice,  "  there  are  not  many  steps.  A  lit- 
tle door  leads  from  the  garden  below  straight 
into  the  street ;  the  door  has  been  left  unlocked 
to-night." 

Vanderlyn  held  out  his  hand;  she  took  it  and 
held  it  for  a  moment.  "  Ahl "  she  said,  softly, 
"  would  that  /  had  died  when  I  was  still  young, 
still  beautiful,  still  loved  1— " 


XII 

THE  bright  May  sun  was  pouring  into  Tom 
Pargeter's  large  smoking-room,  making  more 
alive  and  vivid  the  fantastic  and  brilliantly- 
coloured  posters  lining  the  walls. 

Laurence  Vanderlyn,  standing  there  in  a 
peopled  solitude,  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  own 
strained  and  tired  face  in  a  mirror  which  filled 
up  the  space  between  two  windows,  and  what 
he  saw  startled  him,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that 
none  could  look  at  his  countenance  and  not  see 
written  there  the  tale  of  his  anguish,  remorse, 
and  suspense.  And  yet  he  knew  that  now  his 
ordeal  was  drawing  to  a  close;  in  a  few  mo- 
ments Pargeter  was  due  to  return  from  his. 
interview  with  Madame  d'Elphis. 

Walking  up   and   down   the  sunny   room 
266 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

which  held  for  him  such  agonising  memories 
of  the  long  hours  spent  there  during  the  last 
three  days  in  Tom  Pargeter's  company,  Van- 
derlyn  lived  again  every  moment  of  his  own 
strange  interview  with  the  soothsayer.  The 
impression  of  sincerity  which  Madame  d'Elphis 
had  produced  on  him  had  now  had  time  to 
fade,  and  he  asked  himself  with  nervous  dread 
whether  she  was,  after  all,  likely  to  do  what 
she  had  promised.  Nay,  was  it  in  her  power  to 
lie, — or  rather  to  tell  the  half-truth  which  was 
all  that  he  had  asked  her  to  tell? 

At  last  there  came  the  sound  of  the  front 
door  of  the  villa  opening,  shutting;  and  then 
those  made  by  Pargeter's  quick,  short  foot- 
steps striking  the  marble  floor  of  the  hall,  and 
echoing  through  the  silent  house. 

Vanderlyn  stopped  short  in  his  restless  pac- 
ing. He  turned  and  waited. 

267 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

The  door  was  flung  open,  and  Pargeter  came 
in.  Quietly  shutting  the  door  behind  him,  he 
walked  down  the  room  to  where  the  other 
man,  with  his  back  to  the  window,  stood  wait- 
ing for  him.  The  three  days  and  nights  which 
had  carved  indelible  lines  on  the  American's 
already  seamed  face,  had  left  Pargeter's  un- 
touched; just  now  he  looked  grave,  subdued, 
but  his  face  had  lost  the  expression  of  per- 
plexed anger  and  anxiety  which  had  alone 
betrayed  the  varying  emotions  he  had  experi- 
enced since  the  disappearance  of  his  wife. 

At  last,  when  close  to  Vanderlyn,  he  spoke 
— in  a  low,  gruff  whisper.  "Grid!"  he  ex- 
claimed, "Grid,  old  man,  don't  be  shocked! 
La  d'Elphis  says  that  Peggy's  dead — that  she's 
been  dead  three  days!" 

Vanderlyn   could  not  speak.     He   stared 

dumbly  at  the  other,  and  as  he  realised  the  re- 

268 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

lief,  almost  the  joy,  in  Pargeter's  voice,  there 
came  over  him  a  horrible  impulse  to  strike — 
and  then  to  flee. 

"  There,  you  can  see  it  for  yourself — " 
Pargeter  held  out,  with  fingers  twitching  with 
excitement,  a  sheet  of  note-paper.  "  La  d'El- 
phis  wrote  it  all  down!  I  didn't  see  her — she's 
ill.  But  this  is  not  the  first  time  I've  had  to 
work  her  in  that  way,  and  it  does  just  as  well. 
Her  sister  managed  everything, — she  took  her 
in  one  of  Peggy's  gloves  which  I'd  brought 
with  me." 

Vanderlyn  shuddered.  He  opened  his 
mouth,  but  no  words  would  come.  Then  he 
looked  down  at  the  sheet  of  paper  Pargeter 
had  handed  him: — 

"  The  person  to  whom  this  glove  belonged 

has  been  dead  three  days.    She  died  on  a  jour- 

269 


I 

THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

ney — alone.  Think  of  the  bridal  flower, — it 
will  guide  you  to  where  she  now  lies  waiting 
for  those  who  loved  her  to  claim  her." 

Pargeter  laid  one  hand  on  Vanderlyn's  arm 
— with  the  other  he  took  out  of  one  of  his 
pockets  a  sheaf  of  thin  slips  of  paper.  The 
American  knew  them  to  contain  accounts  of 
accidents  and  untoward  occurrences  registered 
at  the  Prefecture  of  Police. 

Pargeter  detached  one  of  the  slips  and  laid 
it  across  the  sheet  of  paper  on  which  Madame 
d'Elphis  had  written  her  laconic  message: — 

"  Look — look  at  this,  Grid !  And  don't  say 
again  I'm  a  fool  for  believing  in  La  d'Elphis ! 
I've  had  this  since  the  day  before  yesterday; 
but  I  didn't  bother  to  show  it  to  you,  for  I 
didn't  think  anything  of  it — I  shouldn't  now, 

but  for  La  d'Elphis !    But  do  look—'  the  body 

270 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

* 
of  a  young,  fair  woman  found  in  a  train  at 

Orange' — ' the  bridal  flower/  as  La  d'Elphis 
says — eh,  what?" 

But  still  Vanderlyn  did  not  speak. 

"  I've  thought  it  all  out,"  Pargeter  went  on, 
excitedly.  "  Peggy  was  driven  to  the  wrong 
station — see?  Got  into  the  wrong  train — and 
then — then,  Grid,  when  she  found  out  what 

she'd  done,  she  got  upset "  For  the  first 

time  a  note  of  awe,  of  horror,  came  into  his 
voice — "You  see,  my  sister  Sophy  was 
right,  after  all;  the  poor  girl's  heart  was 
queer ! " 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  now?" 
asked  Vanderlyn  in  a  low,  dry  tone.  "Ar- 
range for  a  special  to  Orange,  I  suppose? 
What  time  will  you  start,  Tom?  Would  you 
like  me  to  come  with  you? " 

Pargeter  reddened;  his  green  eye  blinked 
271 


THE   UTTERMOST   FARTHING 

as  if  he  felt  suddenly  blinded  by  the  bright 
sun. 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  going  myself,"  he 
said,  rather  ashamedly.  "  Where  would  be  the 
good  of  it?  Her  brother  and  that  cousin  of 
hers  are  sure  to  want  to  go.  They  can  take 
Plimmer.  The  truth  is — well,  old  man,  I  don't 
feel  up  to  it!  I've  always  had  an  awful 
horror  of  death.  Peggy  knew  that  well 

enough "  the  colour  faded  from  his  face; 

he  looked  at  the  other  with  a  nervous,  dejected 
expression. 

"  Tom,"  said  Vanderlyn,  slowly,  "  why 
shouldn't  I  go  to  Orange — with  Madame  de 
Lera?  Why  say  anything  to  Peggy's  people 
till  we  really  know? " 

For  the  first  time  Pargeter  seemed  moved 
to  genuine  human  feeling.  "  Well,"  he  said, 

ore  a  good  friend,  Grid!    I'll  never  for- 

272 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

get  how  you've  stood  by  me  during  this  wor- 
rying time.  I  wish  I  could  do  something  for 

you  in  return "  he  looked  at  the  other 

doubtfully.  To  poor  Tom  Pargeter,  "  doing 
something  "  always  meant  parting  with  money, 
and  Laurence  Vanderlyn  was,  if  not  rich,  then 
quite  well  off. 

Vanderlyn's  hand  suddenly  shook.  He 
dropped  the  piece  of  paper  he  had  been  hold- 
ing. "Perhaps  you'll  let  me  have  Jasper 
sometimes — in  the  holidays,"  he  said,  hus- 
kily. 

"Lord,  yes!  Of  course  I  will!  There's 
nothing  would  please  poor  Peggy  more !  Then 
— then  when  will  you  start,  Grid?  I  mean  for 
Orange?  " 

"At  once,"  said  Vanderlyn.  Then  he 
looked  long,  hesitatingly  at  Pargeter,  and  the 

millionaire,  with  most  unusual  perspicacity, 

273 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

read  and  answered  the  question  contained  in 
that  strange,  uncertain  gaze. 

"Don't  bring  her  back,  Grid!  I  couldn't 
stand  a  big  funeral  here.  I  don't  want  to  hear 
any  more  about  it  than  I  can  help !  Of  course, 
it  isn't  much  good  my  going  over  to  England 
now;  but  I  won't  stay  in  Paris,  I'll  get  away, 
— right  away  for  a  bit,  on  the  yacht, — and 
take  some  of  the  crowd  with  me." 

No  one  ever  knew  the  truth.  To  the  Pre- 
fect of  Police  the  mystery  of  the  disappear- 
ance of  Mrs.  Pargeter  is  still  unsolved — un- 
solvable.  When  he  meets  a  pretty  woman  out 
at  dinner  he  tells  her  the  story — and  asks  her 
what  she  thinks. 

As  for  Laurence  Vanderlyn,  he  has  gone 
home — home  to  the  old  colonial  house  which 
was  built  by  his  great-grandfather,  the  friend 

274 


THE   UTTERMOST  FARTHING 

of  Franklin,  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Champlain. 
He  never  speaks  of  Peggy  excepting  to  Jas- 
per ;  but  to  the  lad  he  sometimes  talks  of  her  as 
if  she  were  still  there,  still  very  near  to  them 
both,  near  enough  to  be  grieved  if  her  boy 
should  ever  forget  that  he  had  a  mother  who 
loved  him  dearly. 


THE  END 


275 


41555 


A     A!~\       '"''''"iiiiiiiiiiiii 


